The Neverwere Moments 2: Brave
by 6wingdragon
Summary: We return to find that not all is as it seems, and must dig ever deeper to find the truth. This is Brave, the next story of Trustworthy, so take heart and dare to be more than you are. Hear the words unspoken, listen to the tales untold; these are the moments that never were.
1. Chapter 1

Laverne Hopps was a lady of such distinguished character and high standing in the rabbit community, that her eccentricities endeared her _to_ rather than ostracized her _from_ fellow bunnies. Few in the Burrow knew not of "The Silver Belle"; so named for the soft gray of her fur and the clear, heavenly voice which filled an already packed concert hall twice a week. Fewer in the Burrow knew of "The Steel Horn", however; a righteous clarion call which many in polite society would consider wholly improper and unfitting someone of her station.

Lovey, as she was known by her nearest and dearest, awoke in the early morn of a performance day, a day that meant rigorous practice followed by an afternoon of rest. First, was her favorite part of waking.

"Good morning, Miss," chimed her housebunny, a portly auburn toting a breakfast tray with a covered plate and readied papers, setting it all on the bed before her mistress with the utmost care, "Rest well, I hope?"

"Soundly enough, Tillie," Lovey said, arms stretched overhead and chest arched to work out the sleep, "mind abuzz with tonight, of course." Her violet eyes spoke anticipation as dawn spilled through opened curtains upon a brown-wrapped parcel of papers.

Tillie became bashful when she returned to the bedside, "If it's not too bold, Miss, I full remember your telling that you're to eat _before_ reading those," the bunny-in-waiting reminded, and then lifted the cover from her mistress's breakfast.

A relinquishing sigh loosed Lovey's lips, "You're quite right," she agreed, and pulled a napkin from the tray to lie across her lap with a chuckle, "Without your vigilance, I'd wither away in a week's time."

Sharing in the jolly with her own giggle, Tillie's eyes fell to the assortment of almond, raspberry, and cream porridge tarts on the breakfast tray. They smelled delicious, and knew that the outer crust was warmed by piping hot innards; when they reached her mistress's bed, they were the perfect temperature to eat inside-and-out. "You're a lucky bunny, Miss," she said, pouring the tea, "to find the favor of two charming suitors as you do."

"Now, that _is_ too bold," Lovey mused.

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss, it wasn't my place," Tillie withdrew, but hid a smile as she readied the clothes of the day; with her mistress still in undergarments, and no intention to leave the house until evening, the dutiful auburn bunny set aside a simple dress best suited for comfort but nice enough to entertain any spontaneous guests.

Lovey savored the first bite of a tart, sinking her teeth into the warm, flaky crust and creamy filling; each morning a new batch of familiar, yet unique pastries greeted her, and each time felt like discovering a brand new delicacy. Washing down the tart with a sip of tea (though by no means did it _need_ washing down), she hastily grabbed up the unmarked parcel, for she knew what waited inside. The twine and brown wrapping fell away to reveal handsome penmanship, but it was no resolved legal matter or intimate correspondence that re-lit her eyes as she read.

Tillie hopped closer, recognizing her mistress's excitement and eager to share in it, "Is that another song, Miss?" she asked, leaning on the bed a bit to get a better look.

With a soft sniff, Lovey wiped at the corner of her eye to nod, "It is, Tillie, and it's _divine_ ," she cleared her throat after a stuttering breath, intent to regain ladylike composure, "He always does this to me, sending a new song _only_ on performance days. As if I'd set aside the entire night for him…"

"Miss?"

"And he's right," she admitted, spreading the sheet music adjacent on the bed to finish her breakfast, but scanned it while humming around a mouthful of either tart or tea.

"He sounds like such a nice bunny to meet, that Nicolaus Wilde," Tillie said, nodding to the signature on his prose as she lifted the tray away, "Shame about his mange, though, keeping him from society as it does. It's a good thing you can't catch it from letters, or else it'd keep his music away, too."

"Yes…" Lovey concurred, gathering up the manuscript to lay it on her nightstand, and then crawled from bed to wash up and dress.

"But if I could, Miss, I'd want to know who makes you these sweeties each day," she continued, setting the tray with great care near the sheet music, "I've asked that grocer who brings 'em with the morning goods, but being a fox he can't help but talk in riddles."

"Tillie."

"I'm sorry, Miss," she bowed her head before reciting, "I know the bunny who sends 'em doesn't want to share his name, and it's not the fox's fault for keeping it a secret."

"Well put," Lovey nodded, stepping to the freshly-filled water bowl to wash her face, paws, and ears, "We rabbits have our way, and the foxes have theirs; simple as that." Grabbing up the nearby towel, she looked over to the breakfast tray and its gifts, especially to a flower acting as decorative garnish: a single, yellow tulip. "Is Mr. Fox out in the garden?"

"Since the dark hours, Miss," reported Tillie as she readied the dress, "And beggin' another pardon, Miss, but it never sits right how he can move about the night as easily as he does. Not a lantern or even the moon, but-"

"But he gets his work done, Tillie," interrupted Lovey, adjusting the garment as the back was laced up, "His flowers are the envy of the neighborhood _and_ the grocer's produce is best in the Burrow, bar none." She then turned to her fluster-withheld housebunny and cupped a cheek, knowing full well that her personal view on foxes was as unique as her voice, "I'm sure my father will wake soon, and would love his morning coffee and newspaper to greet him," comforted the Silver Belle.

To this, Tillie softened, smiled, and curtseyed, "A good morning, Miss," she chimed, ducking past to collect the breakfast tray, but not before setting Mr. Fox's flower atop Mister Wilde's manuscript, as she knew her mistress preferred.

With a new song to learn and perfect before the performance, Lovey had a great deal to do in the day ahead, yet she decided to spare another few minutes and sit upon her bay window overlooking the garden. She cradled both song and flower in her lap to gaze out, admiring the handiwork of their diligent Mr. Fox; she walked the garden frequently, but found it prettiest outside her window.

"The east end of the garden is best for flowers," Mr. Fox would articulate, "Warmer mornings, cooler afternoons." And there was his tall, fire-red form, bent over to pull weeds with the utmost care so to not damage the adjacent blooms. As expected of his species, no sooner did she catch sight of him than he scanned the garden, and then glanced up to her window. Lovey smiled and gestured in greeting, but he only spared a polite nod before casting his green eyes down again. She sighed in begrudging acceptance, fully knowledgeable that if he was caught lingering on her for too long it could risk his livelihood, and depending who caught him, his _life_.

Well into late-morning, Lovey remained in her music room with Mister Wilde's latest work propped up on her piano. There was no doubt that his prose was fit for royalty, and while it boasted a certain melody to its pacing and emphasis, it always needed refining to make a proper performance piece. This was a task Lovey shouldered with grace, for it etched it upon her heart, and so made a more exquisite song to sing. Charcoal pencil in grip, she placed music notes about inked words as a jeweler cuts a raw diamond, and would more often than not dismiss the outside world until satisfied.

There were times, of course, when a knock at the door interrupted deep concentration, but ever the proper lady, Lovey permitted each intrusion cordially. "Come in" she bade, turning about on her piano bench to address what was either Tillie or her father, but indeed, he was neither. "Grav?" she wondered aloud, pivoting full to face the debonair, butterscotch rabbit.

"Lovey, was our time apart so vast that my presence surprises you?" he asked, stepping into the music room, "Surely the years have not changed me _that_ much."

"Well, mayhaps you're a _bit_ taller," she noticed, watching his approach with amiability, "What brings you back from your worldly travels?"

"No more or less than I've seen what the world has to offer," he grinned, and took a seat on the piano bench when she spared him the space, "but despite it all I feel my soul yearn for the Burrow; so, it is here I return."

"And many a story you've brought with you, no doubt," she said, smoothing out her dress over the knees, "Will you be in the Burrow long?"

"I should certainly think so," said Grav, "My soul is the Burrow's, but my _heart_ is home for a different reason entirely. Lovey, I intend to woo a mate and settle a family."

"I'm happy for you, Grav," she beamed, and rest a paw upon his in familial gesture, "I should delight to meet this lucky bunny who earned your eye."

"Well," he paused with a hopeful smile, and turned his palm up to cradle hers, while the other rest atop, "You already know her better than anyone could."

Lovey reeled in the most composed way she could, feeling her throat run dry and ears turn warm, "Grav, I…"

"I understand it is quite a lot to comprehend at once…"

"It certainly _is_ , but…"

"A great deal of thought went into this, I must stress; this is no boyish bluster…"

She quickly pivoted away and tucked the paw against her stomach, "I confess, you caught me quite off guard. You see, I have a performance tonight, and I am not in the mindset to decide on so important a matter."

"I… I understand," he admitted and sat up straight, back full to the piano with his paws on his knees, "Perhaps it _was_ a boyish bluster, charging in here from out of the blue and asking you to commit without so much as a _hint_ of my intentions. I hope you can forgive such a foolhardy rabbit as I, whom would forget so much etiquette in his travels."

"If nothing else," she sighed, and glanced over her shoulder with paws folded in her lap, "I commend your pluck and daring." Lovey smiled, however, and turned to face the keys, "You've always been the brave one, your trip around the world is evidence to that. While here I stay in the house I was born and raised, never chancing to see what else is out there." Her fingers caressed the white-&-black keys, and walked a gentle chord.

"And you were always the sensible one," he answered in kind, likewise turning to face the keyboard to run his fingertips along it, daring to pluck a note or two before joining her in idle playing, "I'd not be half so blessed if not for you, Lovey." She did not respond except for a warm, grateful smile, which he accepted. Spotting the music sheets, Grav studied them a moment longer, "My absence was longer than I realize, for I do not recognize this composer."

"Oh," paused Lovey, fingers lingering on the notes, "he is quite new. I found his music completely by chance and was moved to sing it. In all my experience, I cannot recall a more passionate songwriter. I receive the occasional piece and add it to my repertoire as appropriate; this one arrived only this morning."

"Ah ha," Grav realized, tugging at the cover page when he found it, "So _this_ is the mysterious 'Nicolaus Wilde' I heard from the household gossip. Lovey, are you already spoken for?"

Despite her training and steely nerves, Lovey indeed wavered and drew her fingers from the black-&-white to steeple their tips, "Ours is… a professional relationship. If you heard from the help, then you know poor Mister Wilde is not at liberty to show his face in public."

"Yes, his is a tragic circumstance, but of all _my_ stories overseas, I doubt one could match the intrigue as to how _you_ crossed paths with a mange-ridden composer," Grav challenged, fingers still tapping along the piano.

"As I said," she explained, adding dramatic keystrokes in the meanwhile, "'Twas a chance meeting. I began my singing career with childhood lullabies and Blessed hymns, done with all the flourish and passion I could muster. After a time, however, I felt they were… I won't say 'lacking', but I needed something no one's heard before, to _truly_ light the fire in their souls. While composition was part of my training as a songstress, my pieces always had certain…"

"'Lacking'?" he prompted.

"I needed inspiration," she mused, "As it was, walking in the garden helps me think, so one day I walked somewhere new, letting luck guide my path. After meandering quite a good deal, a sudden breeze whipped past me; with it were sheets of paper and a cry of dismay from an open window."

"Those would be Mister Wilde's songs, no doubt," he observed, "but what an awful shock it must've been to discover his lot in life."

"Quite so," she sighed, "I knew I couldn't go near him, but you needn't proximity to talk. He was shy about his music at first, but since I had a few of his works in hand, I perused them and was amazed how easily they accepted a melody. I needed more of his songs, so I only gave back what I had on the condition that he would write more for me in the future."

"How especially _sly_ of you," Grav pointed out critically.

"Desperate times, I'm afraid," Lovey admitted, "I could feel his longing for acceptance, and I required new material; so how could I turn down what fortune thrust upon us both? He only need see that, and it would be the beginning of a fruitful cooperation." Lovey's fingers continued to play all the while, but hesitated at times in Grav's accompaniment; he was playing the notes she wrote on the sheet music, and while he was in the wrong octave, the timing and notes were remarkably accurate. Her only real concern was how he calmly, forcibly struck each key instead of caress them. Every tone spoke of his severity from when they were children, and it always seemed to set her on edge.

He finished with a soft, satisfied sigh, "Well, Miss Laverne," and turned to her with a polite smile, "I shan't keep you from your practice much longer, as I also heard that your preparations before a performance are _quite_ arduous."

With a playful scoff, she reoccupied the vacancy left by his standing, "No need for such formality, _Mister_ Grav, I am still 'Lovey', through-and-through, but thank you for visiting. We shall need to catch up, time permitting."

A charming, smug smile crossed his lips as he stood upright, and puffed out his chest, "Pardon my impertinence, Lovey, but I am 'Mister Grav' no longer. As of my return to the Burrow, I am ' _Sir_ Grav', of the Blessed Court."

"Oh!" she gasped, turning to face him once more, "You are a knight?"

"Quite so," he teased, and dramatically took a knee, "For my 'heroism overseas' and 'loyalty to the crown'; perhaps, my dear, that I should have lead with _that_ bit of news."

Lovey sat upright, as though to mimic royalty with a regal gesture towards him, "Fancy it might have changed our answer, _Sir_ Grav?"

"I can only hope it would prompt you to consider it," he replied, reaching up to cradle Lovey's paw anew, and with a gentlerabbit's kiss on the back thereof, so retested her composure. He stood, "But let us start with lunch, and see where fortune takes us from there."

"Oh, thank you, Sir Grav," she lamented, and gently withdrew from his loose grip, "but I cannot stop practicing now, and certainly not to eat. When I am finished with this song to satisfaction, though, I would want nothing more than to join you for a meal."

Though dejected, he nodded graciously, "I understand. Your handbunny warned it would take a great deal to pry you from the piano," he recalled, "and it's clear to me that you are still the determined, beautiful bunny I know you to be. When you are free again, Lovey, do call for me." He bowed again, much more intimately, and left the room.

When the door closed and Grav's footsteps fell from earshot, Lovey walked over and turned the key, as she often did on days that her concentration trumped all other issues. Returning towards the piano, she continued past it to the window cracked open, and pushed the pane so to sit upon the sill while observing the northern side of the garden. "You truly are a credit to your species," she said matter-of-factually.

"Forgive me, Miss," the fox pleeded, sliding into view from behind the edge of the window, eyes still cast down and away, "I was merely pruning the ivy on this lattice, but eavesdropped despite my full intentions not to."

"You needn't explain yourself," she forgave with a kind smile, "What are your thoughts on the song thus far? I rather hoped you were listening."

He smiled, and dared catch her eyes to whisper his answer, "It's greater than I could ever dream."

"What will you call this piece, other than 'Nicolaus Wilde's Unnamed Song, no. 48'?"

"Bless me, forty-eight…" he awed, "Has it truly been that many?"

"It would be a favor unto me if I can tell my appreciators and sponsors its title."

"Forgive me, Miss Hopps, but I only-" he looked around, and whispered lower, "I only write the words; they are _your_ songs."

"Nicolaus," she sighed and shook her head with a patient smile, "how many times must I ask you call me 'Lovey'?"

The fox inclined his head politely, "At least once more, Miss Hopps," he reminded.

She turned from the window to unseat herself and so hide a bashful smile, "Thank you for your time, Nicolaus, I cherish each moment we can spare to talk."

"As do I, Miss Hopps."

"And we both have our tasks to complete before too long. When I finish practice, I would enjoy seeing the results of your pruning."

"Of course, Miss Hopps," he smiled.

It was mid-afternoon before Lovey satisfied herself with the newest piece; except for the title. Lovey considered the validity of Nicolaus's point, fingering the wooden grip of the charcoal pencil. The songs belong to them both, after all, so perhaps naming them fell on her shoulders, not his _._ It was time to put the bunny's creative writing skills through their paces after relying so long on the fox's brilliant prose, and throwing caution to the wind she christened the song with the first pondered title: " If You Could Come With Me, by Nicolaus Wilde," she read aloud, feeling a momentary rush of excitement at the decision. Her eyes darted to a chest in the corner of her music room, wherein hid a lock-box securing the forty-seven other songs written by her groundskeeper and friend; would she have enough time before the performance to review each and title them appropriately?

"Perhaps another day," she determined, and gathered up the sheet music to bring it over to the hideaway for safe storage, and then approached the window. Despite her eagerness, she knew better than to call out the fox's name, so she simply leaned over the sill and searched. Disappointed but understanding, she lamented his absence and took a moment to, instead, admire the ivy creeping up the lattice; she hadn't realized how messy it looked before, but after a thorough pruning it was remarkably tidier. It also meant that she would find fresh ivy leaves garnishing meals, or in flower vases, and eventually, dried ivy leaves accenting the potpourri around the manor.

"A chance meeting…" Lovey wondered, sitting on the sill and swinging her legs out to look across the garden. Barely visible through the surrounding hedge was Nicolaus's shack with a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney. It was purest chance that she found his sheet music, caught on one of the rosebushes and fluttering in the breeze. "Forgive me for my falsehoods, Grav," she rued, heart heavy with guilt, but it was a burden gladly born, knowing that it kept her friend and his music alive.

It was not all false, though. The lullabies and hymns were indeed beautiful, but also well known, and Lovey could feel that while her audience enjoyed her singing their excitement waned with each performance. All attempts to write her own songs failed to stir even her own passion, knowing that the ditties she chimed throughout the day paled in comparison to the deep roots of familial or Blessed songs. It was at that window, around that time of day when she spotted the errant piece of paper nearly two years ago; not since childhood had she hopped out a window and ran through the garden, but there was the tug at her curiosity which pulled her through and discarded her ladylike composure...

With great care, she retrieved the single sheet from the thorns and read it through. Lovey could not remember the last time her heart was so moved by the written word, and with tearful eyes she swept the garden, hoping to find the author of such beauty. Her keen ears discovered Mr. Fox hidden behind a shrub, trying in vain to maintain grip on an armful of scattered papers. Too soon was her heart aloft with joy before it sunk with pity at the terror in his eyes; maybe he could explain the possession of one or two, but no less than a half-dozen sheets of handwritten paper was condemnation, or worse.

"Lose an eye for reading; lose a paw for writing."

Though Lovey's voice was "heavenly", "angelic", and "divine", it was but one against tens-of-thousands believing that a fox's pen ascribed a curse. So, she did what only she could and sang songs written by a fox, to the praise of those tens-of-thousands of bunnies; not to mock their wrong thinking, but because it was the right thing to do.

"Careful, Lovey," interrupted Grav's voice, "you wouldn't want to fall out a window mere hours before your performance."

"Oh," she started, returning from her reverie to the rabbit standing outside her music room's window, "Yes, solid advice," she chuckled, bracing against the wooden frame, "I didn't think you the garden type, Sir Grav. What brings you to my little world of flowers and shrubs?"

"Well, you mentioned that a walk helps to clear your head, so I hoped it would do the same for me," he said, and held out his hand to aid her from the window sill.

"Indeed, sometimes I like to imagine that the smoke from Mr. Fox's chimney becomes the clouds in the sky," she said, nodding at the downy wisps, and then grinned, wondering if he would propose a third time should she accept his gesture, "However, I _can't_ imagine what in this wide world could trouble such a stalwart knight as yourself."

"Only hearsay and gossip," he reported, one paw holding hers while the other held her back as she hopped down, "Not that I endeavor in such things but I cannot help but overhear them, from time-to-time."

"Thank you," she said, and gently slid from his grip to present her best twirl, "And what sort of gossip do we hear from chasing housebunnies, Sir Grav?"

"Those days are long behind me," he shrugged in good humor, putting his paws behind his back as she folded hers in front; the childish teasing was short and fun, but his demeanor spoke of business as he walked towards her and down the garden path, to which she politely followed, "Your singing career began when I left for the sea, Lovey, I was shipped out mere hours before your first public performance, and in all that time I dreamed of nothing more than to see and hear you on stage. It was one of the few thoughts that kept me going. I daresay that half the world knows your name, by now, how often I went on about 'The Silver Belle'.

"As luck would have it, I returned the day after one of your performances, and I hardly had a moment's respite since then, so I promised myself that I would be at your next performance, no matter what. Well, in the evening I was knighted, I chanced upon a conversation amongst some of the higher lords in the Court, perhaps spurred by my plans to see you. Though I've not a shred of evidence to prove it, nor _any_ manner of specifics," he leaned in to whisper, "I heard that Her Majesty entertained the notion of attending your concert."

"By the Four-Leaf, the Blessed Queen…" she gasped, halting mid-step.

"Lovey?"

"I'm alright," she assured, taking a breath and regaining her composure once more, "Pardon me, that was quite uncouth…"

"I can hardly blame you," he smiled, "earning even her _notice_ is the height of fortune."

"For any outside the Court, at least," she teased, "Though it is hearsay, simply knowing that my voice reached the palace is blessing aplenty. Come, we've a meal to honor, and I'm quite famished," she said, holding his arm as they walked to the kitchen through the garden. Lovey knew _she_ had a meal waiting for her, Tillie saw to that whenever a new song came in the morning; since Grav stayed as long as did, it was no great leap of logic that a meal awaited _him_ , as well.

Lo and behold, they were greeted in the dining room by two place settings and a smiling Tillie, "Good afternoon, Sir and Miss," she chimed, perhaps brighter than that morning.

As Lovey approached her place at the table, he was quick to pull the chair out for her. "Oh, thank you," she acknowledged with a simple smile, tucking her dress beneath her legs and sitting back he returned the seat. Lovey caught sight of the muted, unmistakably happy sigh her bunny-in-waiting tried to hide; perhaps there was a benefit to having a young gentlerabbit like Sir Grav around, if only to make her dear Tillie swoon with his ambient charm.

"Miss, not to disturb your appetite, but the grocer came around about an hour ago asking for you," Tillie reported, "I told him you were not to be disturbed under any circumstances, and he seemed awful upset by it; I could tell because his tail sagged-"

"'His tail'?" Grav interrupted, standing on the other side of the table in the process of pulling out his own chair, "Is the grocer a _fox_ , Lovey? That shaggy brute I saw skulking down the alleyway, perhaps."

"Yes," she confirmed, catching the suspicion in his tone, "there's neither crime nor shame in that, despite the state of his fur."

" _A_ fox around the household is good luck, but to have a _second_ visiting does not bode well for your fortunes, Lovey," he preached, "I had half-a-mind to drive him away when I saw him, were he not already leaving."

"It was not a 'visit'," she corrected, "He must've forgotten the day of his voice lessons, is all; nothing more."

"That fox is your _pupil_?"

"Enough," declared the Steel Horn, standing from her seat to set her gaze, "The grocer suffers from a debilitating stutter and incoherently accented speech, both of which I have substantially improved by my tutelage," she rebutted, and continued justly, "It's said that the masters of a craft are those who can teach it to the simplest students, and I daresay I could have him reading poetry to the gentry if given enough time."

A deathly disquiet fell across the dining table, which Grav broke with a calm, dark tone, "And how, pray tell, could a fox _read_ poetry?"

She stood for an unwavering beat, but then drew back her righteous front to the ladylike composure she wore so exquisitely, "Forgive me, Sir Grav; I oversimplified. He would _recite_ from memory a poem that _I_ read to him."

"Which he would recite, more likely than not, to the gentry's _children_ or _guests_ ; as entertainment."

"Undoubtedly," she conceded through a clenched jaw, and sat back down to lay a napkin across her lap; he followed suit, awaiting the arrival of a warm, liquid meal contrasting the cold, stony silence.

Half-way through their tomato, celery, and rice soup, his eyes cast up to her with head bowed; a gesture unfitting a knight of the Blessed Court, but apt for a boy caught in his own bluster, "It is _I_ who must ask forgiveness, Lovey," Grav finally said, "I've been too far asea to remember quiet life in the Burrow. My eyes and ears bore witness to horrific displays of savagery and wickedness, that I scarce believe peace _can_ reign within these hallowed gates. Too many of my fellows fell to the slyness and trickery of foxes, Lovey, for their script is some of the most sinister machinations known."

She quietly sipped, listening to him talk, and when a pause lingered enough, she responded, "Sir Grav, my daring knight, we needn't fear dark magics and curses under the protection of the Her Majesty, the Blessed Queen; we must remain vigilant, of course, for it is during complacency that evil strikes the fiercest. However, in my heart-of-hearts, I do not believe a fox is evil because they are a fox."

He looked to her, and then down to his soup, which he stirred idly for a minute, before his back straightened and shoulders squared, "It's truly remarkable how so much can change, and yet stay the same." He continued at her questioning glance, "From the smallest bird to the gruffest fox, you've always loved and cared for the less fortunate, even as a young girl."

She set her spoon down with a soft smile, "And you've always been the vanguard. I knew I was safe with you around, and that holds true today."

The warmth of the soup thawed the chill in both of them as they finished their respective bowls. "Thank you," he said after the dishes were removed.

"You're quite welcome," she responded, and smiled amiably, "What for, though?"

"Too many to count. For the time being, I am grateful for the afternoon together, rough waters notwithstanding."

"It was delightful, all things considered," she agreed, rising from her seat, and he followed suit, "Shall I see you tonight in the audience?"

"Come hell or high water, Lovey."

"Splendid. Doors close at a quarter-to-8 _sharp_ , so don't be late."

"I wouldn't dare," he grinned.

Lovey saw him out to the front door and bid him a fond farewell, and while she was happy to see her childhood friend after so many years apart, his company always left her with an uneasiness she could never quite explain. So, once again, she traversed the hallways to her music room, remembering that not only had she left her charcoal pencil on the piano, but locked the door and exited out the window. In a wholly unladylike manner, she leaned forward until her head dully thunked against the wood with a frustrated groan at yet _another_ delay.

"Miss Hopps?" whispered a voice beyond the threshold, so low that were it not for her keens ears nearly pressed to the wood she would not have heard it.

"Nicolaus?" she whispered back, and soon recognized the swift, quiet turning of the key. A bright green eye peeked through the crack in the door before she slipped inside. "What a stroke of luck," she smiled as he closed and locked the door, "But, why are you in here?"

He turned to face her, eyes glancing up to the open window and stepping aside so he was not in direct view of it. Nicolaus then pulled out a square envelope, "This is from Big Gid," he hushed, "He was eager to give it to you directly, but your visitor prevented that, but then the open window allowed me to set it on your piano so you might find it later. I nearly jumped from my fur when the door handle rattled."

"From Big Gid?" she wondered, and stepped out of direct view from the window to accept the missive. The grocer was known by bunnies as "Mr. Fox", same as Nicolaus and every other fox in the Burrow, but by his own kind as "Big Gid" for his substantial height and girth. She untucked the paper flap to pull out a single card covered in a careful, albeit messy scrawl:

I thank you,

Miss Hopps.

Big Gid

Lovey was struck silent, and were it not for Nicolaus's quick ushering into a chair, she would certainly have collapsed to the floor. Tears streamed from her eyes as she tried to reread the note, cupping a trembling, proud smile.

What began with an incoherent greeting and a cordial correction, lead to weekly speech lessons tucked away in a hidden alcove of the garden. So ambitious was her dear pupil to learn, and so just was she to do right in the face of wrong, that she willingly committed the cardinal sin of the Burrow: she taught a fox to read and write.

Cradling to her bosom the simple token of gratitude brought at such great peril, Lovey managed to speak around a choked sob, "He wrote his first sentence with neither aid nor prompting, to thank me, and even signed his own name," she marveled, though it was more than plenty that he baked the most delicious pastries every morning for her, "Truly, I could not be more blessed."


	2. Chapter 2

At half-past-seven in the evening, the concert hall boasted not a single empty seat for Laverne Hopps's performance; save one, whose intended occupant was, in fact, back stage visiting with the starlet. Normally, none were allowed to entreat behind the curtain with the looming start of show, but Grav was, as he always would be, a charismatic rabbit with a talent to sway opinion of any he met; save one, whose dressing room he so happened to be visiting.

He sat patiently behind a privacy screen while Lovey perched poised at her vanity, relaxing in her undergarments as a vixen groomed her fur with doting attention.

"If you wanted another seat for this friend of yours, then you should have had the foresight to purchase a second ticket beforehand," Lovey chided; kindly so.

"I'm not asking for another seat, my dear, I know full well it's a sold out house," he responded, "It's simply that this friend of mine, whom I trust with my life, was not fortunate enough to get a ticket for tonight, and he so yearns to see you perform; perhaps because of all I had to say about your stellar voice during my time overseas."

"So what, exactly, _are_ you asking?" she wondered aloud, "I might recommend against sharing the seat, as it would be dreadfully uncomfortable and unbecoming for the both of you."

"Nothing of the sort. All I ask is for the opportunity to watch your performance from behind the curtain, even if it means I would not sit the entire show; so that my friend may get this rare chance to see and hear you on stage."

"Quite doubtful; the producer is frightfully strict…"

"Oh, _not_ a worry there," chuckled Grav, "I've already acquired Mister Earwicket's permission to watch from backstage, all he requested in return was your go-ahead on the matter."

Lovey halted a brush to peer over her shoulder at the privacy screen and the rabbit it hid, "I might be 'The Silver Belle' but I daresay you've earned the title of 'The Silver Tongue'," she teased, and turned back to her groomer to share a secret grin and released the brush, "Do be careful, Sir Grav, slyness is a fox's forte, after all."

"My intentions are _wholly_ altruistic," he insisted, "In this way, I can keep the promise to myself and you, while also granting the wish of a close friend and confidante."

"In that case, I cannot deny such charity," Lovey grinned, "Consider my 'go-ahead' granted. Do keep in mind that I require absolute silence from backstage while I perform; the acoustics of this theatre are precarious to the complacent, and could cause the oddest, most random noises."

He softly grunted in affirmation and contemplation, "It does bring to mind why you opt for this… out-of-the-way establishment. Isn't there a closer, larger, more modern concert hall nearer your father's manor?"

The groomer pulled back to study the next step of the process, and then picked up the fur-powder to run its fine-haired bristles across Lovey's cheeks, chin, brow, neck, chest, and ears. "It's also twice as expensive, exclusive, and more executive. My concerts are for the lower classes as well as the nobility, Sir Grav; the seats in this theatre are affordable by far, and while the producer _is_ strict, he is understanding, as well. I have a rapport with the stage crew here. I consider myself quite lucky to be managed by such capable hands." She smiled up to the vixen's reflection, which spared a quiet smile in kind.

"At risk of overstepping, Lovey, as I am a guest here, it is a wonder you have any luck left at all. I counted no less than _five_ foxes, including your groomer, involved in this production," he critiqued, "Should one more wander in through the door, I wouldn't be surprised if the building collapsed in on itself."

"Your humor always needed refinement," she responded with some degree of coldness, eyes closed as a soft brush applied makeup to her lids, "Fret not, plucky knight, as I am safeguarded from such misfortune: if a sixth fox should find their way backstage, then a _seventh_ fox is all that's needed to harmonize the hall's luck. A simple task, Sir Grav, since there is a fox skulking behind every tree and corner, is there not?"

Pausing for a solid minute before he spake, Lovey could almost hear his clenched jaw, "Touché, Lovey."

The rubbing together of her lips after an application of a vivifying lip-balm was all which sounded before she asked, "Will you introduce this friend of yours after the performance? I do enjoy meeting my appreciators."

"Certainly. I don't suppose you would be too preoccupied afterwards to meet for a late coffee?" suggested Grav.

"If I do, my father will need to act as chaperone," she said with a sigh, "It wouldn't do for a young lady like me to partake in the company of two, strapping young gentlerabbits."

"Far be it for the likes of us to deviate from societal convention."

"Speaking of," reminded the Silver Belle, and dared an unseen wryness, "perhaps you've tarried in my dressing room a bit long, Sir Knight. Imagine the conclusions if anyone knew."

"Quite right," he stood from his seat and walked along the privacy screen to the door, and by soft click, consulted his pocketwatch, "Twenty-til-eight, time enough to get my friend seated. Lovey, Mrs. Fox, faretheewell."

"Grav," she said to halt the door ajar, "You may ask for a chair from one of the stagehands. We do set aside one or two for unique circumstances."

"You have my deepest gratitude, Lovey," he responded, and the door closed.

His footsteps faded from earshot before Mrs. Fox hushed, "You've the patience of a saint, Miss Hopps, I'd not spend a mote longer than needed in any company _he_ keeps."

"Now now, Sissy, for the past ten minutes, _we_ were the company he kept," teased Lovey, "Regardless, Grav was never the type to associate with others of his own disposition; if I know his habits as I think I do, this 'confidante' is a simple strongarm contented to provide mute support."

"You're a braver lady than I, Miss Hopps," smirked the vixen, "It's a mighty good thing your Pa will be there," and finished off her handiwork by applying a light spritz of lavender perfume. "Word has it there's a new song by Mister Wilde tonight," she gleed in modest anticipation.

"It's his best so far," Lovey chimed after turning her face to admire the craftsmanship; the entirety of the procedure did little to mask, but rather emphasized her natural radiance. She stood as 'Sissy' fetched the underdress, "and even has the honor to be our first _named_ song."

"Oh!" gasped the vixen, and pooled the underdress for the starlet to step into, "Nicolaus finally broke down and named a song, did he? It's about time, if you ask me." She was smiling, though, pulling and lacing up the light, white garment as Lovey adjusted it on her torso.

"In honesty, 'twas I who christened it; If You Could Come With Me," the bunny said bashfully.

"Bless me, that's beautiful, Miss Hopps."

"Not a tenth as beautiful as the song, but I tried," she mused, "Please let wardrobe know that I'm ready for the dress," and then whispered, "and ask for a check on both audiences." With a curtsy, Sissy swiftly strode from the room and out the door, leaving Lovey alone with her thoughts at the quarter-hour mark before the performance, thus, she could run her voice exercises undisturbed and placate her conscience. Too often that day was she burdened with the guilt of lying through omission, because the fact of the matter was that there were plenty more than five or even _six_ foxes within the concert hall that evening. Indeed, there must have been nearly a hundred hidden beneath and behind the very stage.

It was her truer purpose for the "out-of-the-way", "cheap" establishment which her performances frequented; to not only sing for the lower class bunnies of the Burrow, but for the second class of the fox population. Secreted in after the doors closed, and secreted out during the encore (which she did every night), known only by a most trusted assortment, from the producer on down to the ushers, and even the cleaning crew. It was a great risk, but those involved knew it and took it gladly.

The time was nigh. She fled the privacy of her dressing room to the staging area behind the curtain. The dress, newly commissioned by one of her sponsors so that they could claim it adorned the Silver Belle, was lowered down and secured by costumers. As a final touch, her throat was spritzed with a bay leaf tincture to soothe it.

"You look beautiful, Miss," awed one of the stagehands.

"Thank you," Lovey smiled, curtsying to them and the whole of the crew, both bunny and fox alike, before she turned to head out on stage. Beyond the heavy, scarlet curtain she could hear the instrumental piece which introduced the concert. She turned her attention to Grav, seated at the other end of the stage well beyond the edge of the curtain, and smiled. As it rose, Lovey breathed in the applause.

At nine-o'clock, after her encore and bows, the curtain dropped upon a bed of flowers thrown from the audience. Lovey breathed a satisfied sigh as she approached her awaiting friend, whom stood with a quiet, eager applause still in force.

" _Brava_ , Lovey, an exquisite performance," he praised, and then folded his paws behind his back respectfully; "I was almost moved to tears several times during it."

"I'm honored you approve," she responded with a warm smile and a soft tone.

"Lovey, my dear, is something a matter with your voice?"

"After performances, I speak less to reduce the strain," she hushed succinctly.

"I see…" he frowned, "Perhaps another evening better suits our introductions?"

"Not at all," she insisted, "I shall be able to talk freely within the hour. Come by my father's manor at ten-o'clock, we shall catch up properly." Lovey then smirked as she walked past him and deeper backstage, "Also, it's worth noting that punctuality admonishes the overly early, as well as the late. Until then, good knight."

In the sanctum of her dressing room, Lovey allowed herself relaxation. The stunning dress was carefully stored in a wardrobe (it would need several more wearings before it could be auctioned for charity), adulation from the stage crew abounded, and the nearby Sissy had removed her makeup.

"Knock knock," came an older, jovial voice from the door with an accompanying strike of knuckles on wood, "Are you decent, Lovebird?"

Lovey's smile spread as she drew from a reserve of energy to stand and garb herself in a robe, with the patient assistance of Sissy, "Yes, Daddy, come in, please," she bade, though quietly still.

So entered Master Hopps; an upper-middle class merchant, plump and well-groomed with a taste for attire that straddled the line of extravagant and utilitarian. "One of these days, I will meet this 'Nicolaus Wilde' you've kept so far hidden," he declared with a wide grin, "I don't care if he's perpetually _ablaze_ , I would shake his paw on account of his brilliance. Your mother wept tears of reverence the _whole_ song through."

"Is Mum still meeting with the sponsors, then?" she asked, noting her absence.

"Oh, you know your mother, she has a way with them I couldn't hope to match," he chuckled, "She shouldn't be too much longer now, so you get dressed and we'll head on home. You've earned yourself a solid sleep after that performance, Lovebird."

"Actually, Daddy, I have one more visit scheduled before I can retire for the night," she explained, "Sir Grav insists on introducing me to a friend whom he gave up his seat for."

"Well, now why'd he go and do a thing like that?" wondered the patriarch.

"It sounded last minute, but I cannot help but think he wanted to see my performance from backstage," smiled Lovey, "I only agreed on the condition that you would chaperone the meeting."

"Lovebird, are you finally choosing a suitor?" he hoped.

"Daddy…" she sighed, "This isn't a courtship, it's a friendly visit."

"You know I only want what's best for you," he assured, and cradled her paws in his, "And _I_ know your singing will always come first, as it should. What I mean to say is, decisiveness was always your strong point, Lovebird, so you need to decide whom or even if you _will_ mate. We males might be stone on the outside, but it is warm putty on the inside, which bruises a lot easier than we let on."

"You don't suppose I… that I might be a bit of a _tease_ do you?" she asked, voice still low but more to mirror her introspection, immediately recalling Grav's earlier nigh-proposal.

"I say this as your father, Lovebird, but you already have three young bucks vying for your favor, with a fourth soon introduced," he grinned, "Don't be surprised if this 'friendly visit' turns competitive."

"' _Three'_?" she reeled, voice higher than she wanted it to go as her ears pinned back and burned hot, "Daddy, Mister Wilde, he's… you know why we can't be, and the _baker_ , what he sends me each morning aren't-"

Master Hopps merely canted his head and quirked a brow.

"Oh goodness, I _am_ a tease…" she muttered, and sat back in the chair to loosely cover her mouth in mild shock. "Have I been blind this whole time?"

"You've been innocent," he chuckled, stepping forward to bend over and cradle her head into a kiss on the brow, "Don't spend too long surprised at yourself; us old bunnies don't stay up as long as the young. Mrs. Fox," smiled the paternal rabbit with a tip of his top hat, and turned back towards the door.

The vixen dared a sly grin when he left, and glided with impeccable step to where Lovey gawked at her own reflection. She took up a brush to idly run its bristles through the bunny's fur, "I always did like that Master Hopps, such an honest rabbit," she cooed, and lightly grunted in curiosity, "He'd shake hands with a burning mangy, but what would one suppose about the fox tending his gardens?"

"Can a tease be unknowing, Sissy?" Lovey postulated, "How many suitors have I spurned in willful ignorance…"

"I wouldn't say 'ignorant', you're dedicated to your passion, is all; no shame in that."

"But?"

"Well, by my count, five gentlerabbits-"

" _Five_ ," gasped Lovey, head falling back and ears draping behind the chair, staring up into the rafters, and then at Sissy, "Whatever am I to do with myself if I'm none the wiser of _five_ suitors?"

"Regrets, have we?" smirked the vixen.

"Only that I am not as vigilant as I believe myself to be," she sighed and sat up, her ladylike elegance returning in posture and tone, and then she untied her dressing robe to step out, "'It is during complacency that evil strikes its fiercest', and though I am watchful to the needs of those around me it is at some minor, personal detriment. Daddy is absolutely correct, I must practice conscientiousness with my allocated affections," she determined, and raised her arms as Sissy slipped the evening dress over her to lace it up.

"Confidence becomes you," observed the vixen, and stooped to embrace her, "Those boys won't know what hit them, will they."

"I hardly know myself," Lovey admitted, and leaned back into her sororal vixen to glance up, "Any advice?"

Sissy smiled back, "Let your heart do the thinking in matters of love; it'll know what's what."

The bunny scoffed playfully, "That is _hardly_ sound advice."

"Oh, it's soundness you want, is it? Then discard all matters to do with courting males; you can't go wrong," she smirked.

"You're unhelpful."

"And you're fussy," critiqued the vixen, tucking in in to nip at her cheek and grab her sides, eliciting a muffled giggle from the rabbit. Sissy released her prey after receiving a few downy, unladylike swats, and stepped back to speak, "Have it your way, I advise this: Sir Grav's cohort is a large, simple-looking chap, I caught a glimpse of him earlier, but don't let his appearance fool you."

"Have you met him before?"

"No, never have, but… call it 'vixen's intuition'," she reported with a wink.

"Ever a riddle when a straight answer would suffice," Lovey giggled, and departed for the door.

"It's no fun if you don't figure it out for yourself," chimed Sissy, and began cleaning up the dressing room.

Lovey pulled her shawl from a corner of the privacy screen and draped it across her shoulders, sneaking a fanciful twirl in her step as she closed the door, and then scanned up and down the hallway. Her ears caught the presence of her parents before her eyes, and whisked herself away with a loftiness she hadn't dared to explore prior that night. The idea of courting always seemed a young girl's dream or a young lady's prerogative, yet herself perpetually betwixt the two; it would figure that her father, of all bunnies, would be the one to pull her head from the ground and toss it into the clouds. Her parents awaited at the backdoor, Madam Hopps rising from a chair as Master Hopps turned to smile at his daughter.

" _There_ you are," sighed Madam Hopps, "was your voice giving you trouble again? Oh, it likely was, you sang with such passion tonight, how could it not…" Idly fretting, she approached and tightly touched on the songstress's throat, as though she might diagnose any ailment through fingers alone, and then brushed whatever stray strands of fur from her daughter's purple eyes. A smile spread over her face regardless as she cupped Lovey's patiently smirking cheeks, "Mind me not, my Love, I can't help but marvel how lucky I am to even know you, much less be your mother."

"You must be truly enamored with the new song," Lovey suggested wryly.

"And you'll do well to watch that sly tongue, Laverne; else one might conclude you're in the habit of keeping foxes' company."

"I'm sorry, Mum," Lovey lamented, but let her smirk linger at the corner of her mouth. She knew her mother did not disapprove of her easy association with the crimson predators, but rather endeavored first-and-foremost that she, at all times, act with proper etiquette and manners; so, Lovey straightened up to the ladylike composure with which she was taught. "My voice _is_ recovering quicker, I find."

"Yes, I quite noticed," she replied in subtle gratitude and appreciation, "When you began, it wasn't until the morn that you could speak again." With gentle ushering, Lovey was guided out into the evening, going down the steps from the stage door as her mother and father joined arms and followed her to their vehicle. It was Master Hopps's most favorite material possession, the latest in technology for the Burrow: a motorized carriage. "Your father looks for any chance to operate it," she observed, tone mixed with adoration and critique, "We can likely walk home by the time it takes to navigate outside the residential district."

"It's no less than the future itself. What a fool I'd be not to practice whenever possible," he boasted.

The first step to starting a motorized carriage, as Master Hopps was prompt to point out, was to assist one's mate (and any available offspring) into the passenger's seat. In the event of a competent and trusted mate, such as Madam Hopps, he would assist her behind the driver's wheel to hold the choke and turn on the ignition at each appropriate pull of the crank (Lovey enjoyed watching them work in their unspoken tandem). With goggles and other such protective attire in place, the three were off to the manor with a mechanical growl; amidst muted din, the maternal bunny leaned over to address her daughter.

"Did Mrs. Fox use a new powder for tonight?" Madam Hopps asked, "Your fur had a certain shine to it I found quite stunning."

"Oh yes, it's an experimental mixture with seashells, to give the illusion of sparkling stars," Lovey answered.

"That vixen works wonders on you, my Love," she dared a grinned with all her supreme ladylike composure, but added with a sigh, "If only there was some way to distill that becoming confidence from otherwise uncouth mannerisms."

"Come now," interjected Master Hopps, "It's a give-and-take, like any good trader knows. Our Lovebird might be a _little_ sly, but I've noticed some proper etiquette rubbing off on that Mrs. Fox, as well."

"Mayhaps," conceded the mother bunny, "After all, both the gardener and the grocer enunciate exquisitely, thanks to dutiful tutelage." She smiled daintily but proudly with a gesture to Lovey.

"I am merely the conduit for their personal betterment, Mum. After all, I could not teach them if they were not willing to learn."

"Spoken as a true lady," beamed Madam Hopps in her refined way, and touched under her daughter's chin to kiss her cheek. "I heard from your father that we are entertaining visitors tonight."

"Yes, Sir Grav and a yet unnamed friend of his," Lovey answered.

"And your father will be chaperoning?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Then I'ven't a thing to worry about," she concluded sincerely, settling back into the vehicle's seat to idly watch the passing buildings of the business district. Though taken aback by such nonchalant acceptance from her mother, Lovey decided not to stir the pot and savor what leeway she could get on the matter; her father, too, seemed relieved by the development.

Though her eyesight was ill-suited for the night, Lovey observed some nocturnal laboring of foxes, often wondering which of them attended her concerts, and where they went during the day (there seemed so many more when the streetlamps lit than otherwise). Their reddish furs melted into shadows beyond the lamplight aura; she frequently caught herself gawking behind her goggles at shapes shifting in the dark. It was such times which reminded her of a biological fear held by all bunnies… which in turn reminded her of her mother's lessons _against_ such unladylike behavior as "biological fear"; they were civilized mammals, after all, and so should act accordingly.

At the manor, after Master Hopps came to a full and complete stop under a fairly recent addition in the form of an overhang, Madam Hopps and Lovey joined the patriarch in discarding their motorist's gear for storage in the convenience of a glove compartment.

"The experience improves with each drive. Wouldn't you agree, my dear?" he grinned, assisting his mate from the vehicle while Lovey helped herself out the other side.

"I wouldn't say 'improves', but it does refrain from worsening," she compromised, and followed her mate on his arm as they traversed the front of the motorized carriage. "Laverne, you _must_ learn patience if you intend to court," the matriarch sighed, to which her daughter looked up in some degree of confusion.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mum, I suppose I am a bit distracted," she explained, though figured that at her own home, she could manage dismounting a stationary vehicle by herself.

"It is a matter of consistency," explained Madam Hopps as they walked up to the front door, held open by the butler, "If you accept a gentlerabbit's assistance _into_ your seat, you should accept his assistance _out_ of it."

"You needn't be so harsh on her," he chided with a jovial air, assisted from his jacket by a prompt footrabbit, "Either treat her as a lady or treat her as a girl, but not both. Besides, a polite turn of the chair often depends on the gentlerabbit, does it not?"

"Yes, that is true," she agreed, and addressed her daughter after divesting her own coat to a parlorbunny, "Your father's right, my Love, I've taught you all I can on etiquette and poise but ultimately, it's your decision on how you are a lady. Perhaps I worry too much about matters not my own," she added with a sigh.

Lovey draped her shawl over an arm and approached, "Mum, you only want what's best for me, as does Daddy. You wouldn't correct me if you didn't sincerely believe it was for my personal betterment."

"Spoken as a true lady," Madam Hopps repeated humbly, "Now, go freshen up for your guests. I'll speak with the chef about some hot coffee and cakes," she continued, turning to the butler as she walked from the foray and towards the kitchen, "Have the parlor done up for four, and find Mr. Fox, I think some of that fresh ivy will do some good tonight…" her voice trailed off as she disappeared down the hall.

"What time are they due?" asked Master Hopps as he pulled out a pocket watch.

"Ten-o'clock, although Grav has a tendency to show up earlier than is necessary," replied Lovey, standing at a mirror near the door to smooth any fur misplaced from the drive. "Freshened up" to satisfaction, she smiled and faced her father.

"A tad more than a quarter-hour before then," he reported, and snapped his watch shut, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt if we settled in."

"You didn't happen to see this mysterious friend of Sir Grav's in the audience, did you?" she asked, joining the older rabbit as they walked down the hallway.

"Let's see now," he considered with a rub of his chin, "I thought I saw another young male speaking with Sir Grav before the performance, but to say whether it was him or not would be presumptuous. No doubt a fellow from his oversea adventures, though."

"Quite so," conceded Lovey, and entered through the parlor door held open by her father, "That might very well have been his friend he spoke with; Sir Grav was never the type for mingling, if he could help it. Do you recall their conversation casual or formal?"

"Lovebird, I admit my mind was more on your concert than the idle chit chat of other concert-goers," chuckled Master Hopps as he followed his daughter to a prepared table and joined her on the sofa facing two armchairs, "However, I do remember a name which caught my attention. It was… right, I believe Sir Grav called him 'Briar'; a hare name, curiously enough."

"Why curious? Mister Earwicket is a hare, and despite his eccentricity he's a respected member of the community."

"Of course, of course," he quickly said, and nonchalantly pulled a metal case from his waistcoat pocket, "It's only curious because Mister Briar is definitely a rabbit, not a hare. Do you mind if I chew a root, Lovebird?" and popped open the case.

"Not at all, Daddy," she allowed, and as he drew out a length of trimmed root to place between his teeth in the back of his mouth, and then snapped the case shut with a quiet chew, "I would not think it _that_ curious, though, since 'Briar' was originally a rabbit name."

"A rare bit of history, that," he grinned, speech unimpeded as a long-time chewer, "Both Hopps and Briar were some of the first rabbit families in the Burrow, you know, and the longest lived. Then came the hares, and while Briars allowed inter-mating, we Hoppses kept to fellow bunnies; now, there are more Briar hares than rabbits."

"Which, one can argue, is not a bad circumstance, _per se_?"

"You'd be hard pressed to find a Briar rabbit that agrees, Lovebird," he smirked, and checked his watch after putting his root-case away; on cue, Tillie came in with a tray of coffee and fresh cakes garnished with the promised cuts of ivy, "Punctual as always." The auburn curtsyed her gratitude before pouring a cup for the each of them; a few drops of cream but no sugar for her, and a generous doling of both for him.

"A good evening Sir, Miss," she chimed.

"Tillie," said Lovey before the housebunny could depart, picking up one of the cakes to examine it, for the scent was quite familiar to her, "Are these the chef's handiwork?"

"No, Miss," she answered, "The grocer came by tonight to deliver them, saying they were a 'special gift'. Mr. Fox actually had to go and get them from the end of the driveway, because I think the grocer was a bit worried to step onto the grounds-."

"That's preposterous," grimaced Master Hopps, "He's brought 'special deliveries' many nights before, and right up to the kitchen, no less. I don't see how now could be any different from then."

"Beggin' your pardon, Sir, perhaps it was nothing, but I heard from the courier that a clerk said his friend the toymaker saw Mr. Fox, the grocer, nearly collide with Sir Grav on his way past the blacksmith's to the concert. Word was it made Sir Grav _quite_ cross, but he handled himself like a proper gentlerabbit; now, they wouldn't know this, but what with Mr. Fox coming by today looking for Miss Hopps, and the way Sir Grav was so protective at lunch, I can't help but think he put a bit o' caution into that big fella."

"I see. Thank you, Tillie, that will do," Master Hopps said, and permitted her leave before turning to his daughter studying one of the cakes.

"I am inclined to speak with Sir Grav about his conduct," she restrained.

"Be patient with him, Lovebird," instructed her father with a gentle arm at her shoulders, "He's been asea for some years now but hardly home a week. It's a different world beyond those gates and I daresay a different Burrow than when he left."

"I know," she sighed deeply, setting the cake upon a dish and then looking up to her father, "My only concern is if this 'friend' of his harbors the same views or not…"

At a minute past ten-o'clock, one of the male housebunnies introduced two handsomely dressed gentlerabbits as "Sir Grav and Mister Briar", the former easily recognized, but the latter was partially hidden by a rather large bouquet of flowers. Of what Lovey could see of him, he was taller and broader built than many other rabbits she'd met.

"A very good evening, Master Hopps, Miss Hopps, thank you both for permitting such a late visit," Sir Grav said, and took his seat in one of the armchairs when the patriarch offered it. "I would like to introduce a trusted, fellow sailor from my time abroad, Squire Briar," he added with an endearing smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both, Master and Miss Hopps," said the bunny-eared bouquet.

"It's good to see you again, Sir Grav," Lovey greeted, and then leaned over slightly to get a better view of the other's hidden face, "How do you do, Mister Briar."

"Yes, a good evening to you both," grinned the patriarch, "Giving flowers in recognition of a performance is traditionally done _immediately_ afterwards, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, of course, Master Hopps," Mister Briar apologized, "I did not think to bring a bouquet until the doors were already closed, so I had a devilish time finding a flower shop open at such an hour. By great luck, I found a cart vendor willing to sell the days' remaining stock in a single bundle. They are all of good quality, Miss Hopps; I checked them myself."

"Oh, thank you," she accepted stiffly, and scooted away from the arm of the couch as Mister Briar, quite forwardly, propped them up beside her. Indeed, they were a beautiful, if random assortment of blooms, and the whole thing sat taller than she, but given with such an awkward disposition it hardly seemed proper etiquette. But then, it seemed Mister Briar was himself an awkward fellow, which made his association with Sir Grav all the more curious. Lovey found it a challenge to… get a sense of the shy, earthen-tone rabbit, as though he followed a fox's practice of avoiding eye-contact with rabbits.

Sir Grav, in the manner of the paternal rabbit, pulled a shiny metallic case from a breast pocket with a cordial smile, and addressed them both from across the table as his cohort accepted a seat, "I did not notice it earlier, Master Hopps, but I found myself entranced by that motor vehicle of yours," he commended before asking an imposition, "Do you mind if I smoke?" and flicked open the lid to reveal a row of thin cigarettes.

"Why, th-"

"I _do_ mind, Sir Grav," she curtly admonished, immediately recognizing the reddish tint and dark tips of fox-fur cigarettes. Very popular amongst rabbit nobility, they were believed to improve the respiratory system, rather than hinder it. The market for such things meant the less fortunate foxes of the Burrow had at least a monthly income, however meager, but in many cases the product was not always acquired with the fox's wellbeing in mind. Lovey's personal views on fox-fur cigarettes notwithstanding, the outburst was one of the few times the Silver Belle and the Steel Horn were at odds, which dropped her heart into her stomach. Horror-stricken at her own impropriety, she addressed her father in a somber tone, "Forgive my rudeness, Daddy, I did not mean to interrupt you."

Sir Grav's metal case snapped shut in unspoken criticism, and was returned to its pocket.

Master Hopps addressed his daughter in turn, speaking softly, "If you are too exhausted for this visit, perhaps you would prefer to retire for the night."

"Perhaps I would, thank you," she meekly agreed, wishing nothing more than to melt into the ground rather than traverse that vastness to the parlor door. Eyes still cast down as she rose, each other male stood as well, "Please accept my apologies for treating you both in such an uncouth manner," Lovey said, succinctly curtsied, and then departed.

"Wait, Miss Hopps, please," pleaded Mister Briar, and for a moment reached out as if he might never see her again. He collected his countenance for a moment and continued, "In my years traveling the world I have not heard a sound more beautiful than your voice, nor should I if I searched for a thousand years. Whether it's your song or your opinion, I do not think the world could go on without your voice in it."

Lovey turned from the door at such a passionate statement, truly unsure what to make of it. What would her mother do if a gentlerabbit confessed like that? On the other hand, what would Sissy do in her situation? Her training as a lady and the slyness learned in the company of a vixen both fell away like curtains torn from their moorings, leaving a girl to face the penultimate test of unmitigated honesty. Turning fully to face Mister Briar, and even daring a single, minuscule step, she said the only thing her masterful voice could manage, "Thank you, Mister Briar," she paused, seeing his chest swell to hold a breath, "Goodnight, Mister Briar." And so, Lovey exited the parlor at three minutes after ten-o'clock.

In a fugue of confusion and indecision, her destination was not the bedroom she called her own, with the east-facing window and the prettiest part of the garden sitting outside. No, it was the darkened music room with only a wedge of silver moonlight and a dim lamp, the latter she reached up to brighten. Closing and locking the door behind her, Lovey entreated the chest in which she hid the songs of Nicolaus Wilde and the thank you note from Big Gid. It was a long, long time since she needed to collect her thoughts so desperately, to make sense of what she knew or didn't know.

With care and reverence, she laid out the sheet music upon the floor in a grand fan, running her eyes through each stanza and bar, whispering the notes as they chimed between her ears. Like an orchestra, the forty-eight songs played to her instruction, and at the maestro's box sat the single square note received only that day. In time, Lovey's heart troubled no more as she fell asleep on the music room floor and the grand symphony petered to the quiet, steady beeping of an EKG heart monitor.


	3. Chapter 3

There was an odd background noise in Judy's waking mind, beyond the digital metronome which kept pace of her pulse. Dutifully, the machine quickened at her stirring consciousness to an extra half-beat. The air smelled sterile, as expected of modern hospitals. The lights… fluorescent, if dim. A slight, sticking discomfort in her left arm, but most likely the saline drip, so nothing to worry about there.

"Well, look who finally crawled out of the rabbit hole," said a starkly familiar voice.

"Nick?" asked Judy, still managing the movement of her mouth and eyes in a weakened state, and after some grunting effort it was clear that her limbs didn't respond. "I can't move my body… oh my gosh, Nick, am I paralyzed?" she fretted, eyes darting about the ceiling directly above her with a telltale wriggle of her nose.

" _Relax_ , sweetheart, you're not paralyzed. Just give your right thumb a wiggle, and push the 'up' button for your bed," he explained, "Eye contact makes for civil conversation, you know."

"Button… button… okay, I got this," Judy affirmed after a calming breath, and when the motor of her hospital bed whirred to life her torso erected, the overhead lights gradually brightening as her eyes swept the room. She also found, much to her relief, that her ears could swivel and flick from her prone position. " _There_ you are," smiled the bunny, catching sight of a newspaper sitting in a chair across the room held by a full set of dark, pointed fingers with a pair of dark, pointed ears poking out the top, "And what's this I hear about 'eye contact,' huh?"

The newspaper folded down, revealing a bright red rabbit with notably dark ears and paws sitting behind it, "It's a bit old fashioned, but hey, they wouldn't call it 'face-to-face' without good reason."

"Oh, sorry!" the gray rabbit nearly jumped, except her body insisted on its immobility, "I thought... this is awkward, but I thought you were a friend of mine."

He frowned, and continued folding the newspaper to set it on a nearby table, "Ouch, to hear that I'm not a friend of yours…"

"Wow, open mouth, insert foot," she chuckled weakly, "Let's start over, okay? Hi, I'm Judy Hopps and I was expecting to see some _specific_ friends of mine when I woke up; Nick Wilde and Gideon Grey, both foxes. What's your name?"

"Hah, I'm just messing with you; you already know my name," he smirked, standing to reveal a green button-up with a devil-may-care, loosely knotted tie, "but don't worry your cute little self over it, it'll come to you."

Her purple eyes studied him under a furrowed brow, which then arched in realization, "You must be from my mother's side of family," she smiled and scoffed, "Never ceases to amaze me the kind of relatives branching off _that_ tree. Sorry again for the confusion, but you sound an _awful_ lot like my friend Nick; and I wouldn't think they made his shirt in bunny sizes. Anyway, are they here, Nick and Gideon? I need to tell them about this _crazy_ dream I had."

"From the _midnicampum holicithias_ , you mean, nasty stuff from what I hear. So tell me about this dream of yours," prompted the red rabbit, sauntering to the bed and leaning on it with such a casual air, still smirking under a pair of vibrant green eyes.

"Right, th-... you know, it's _so_ weird hearing that said in Nick's voice," she began with a wide, amused smile, and then glanced down in thought, "If _you_ know about it, then Sheriff Longmare must've already started the investigation, maybe even _solved_ it if the details were released. Did they catch who was behind it?"

He shrugged in good-humored defeat, "I only just got here, I'm afraid, but as far as _I_ know, the big bad baddy is still running about and being a general mystery. As for your devilishly handsome friends," he continued, and the long, dark ears swiveled in a searching motion, "Yep, still around," came the report, "Never went very far, most likely."

Judy's ears swept the room again, and then focused a confused grimace on the red, smirking rabbit… until her eyes narrowed in suspicion, "I _do_ know your name…"

"Drum roll, _please_ …"

"You're _Dawson_!"

He threw his paws in the air, and with them came a momentary shower of confetti and fanfare, " _Ding ding_ , we have a winner!"

"But you're _Nick_ 's hallucination, not _mine_ ," she began. He arched his brow expectantly, smirk unwavering as she cringed and groaned before rolling her eyes back towards the ceiling, "Except I heard him talking about you, and your association with the _midnicampum holicithias_ implanted the idea in _my_ brain, so here you are."

"Sounds like you know how this works."

"Hah! I actually have _no_ idea how 'this' works. So, whatever 'this' is, please be useful and show me something I can work with."

A disembodied buzzer sounded in the room, "Ooh, sorry, you did _not_ put it in the form of a question."

Judy groaned and frowned, "Fine. What does the _midnicampum holicithias_ do?"

"Crazy stuff. Next question."

She grumped, and took her time thinking on how to deal with this fox-like rabbit, "Nick said you - his 'Dawson', I guess - helped him think things through. Are you… is this me to talking with myself?"

He smiled and pointed to his left, causing a large, bright green checkmark to appear in the air next to his head with an affirmative chime.

"Hmmm… the _midnicampum holicithias_ is safe, isn't it? I mean, I'm still alive, after all; awake, even."

Still smiling, he pointed to his right as a vibrant red 'X' showed at the sound of a buzzer.

Judy's heart sank and her blood ran cold, a dry throat hindering her next question, "Am… am I… _dead_?"

The incorrect signal sounded again as another red 'X' popped up. Judy breathed a sigh of relief. "Then that means I'm still out of it?" she clarified, and a second 'ding' rang with a second green check mark.

"I guess I still haven't figured out what the whipped cream is supposed to _do_ ," she frowned, "How do I figure it out?"

He grinned all the wider, and hopped up onto the bed to sit cross-legged at its foot, "Now _there's_ a smart question. So, at the end of your dream, Lovely Laverne had all the sheet music spread out on the floor, right?"

Judy took a moment to process this, and then her eyes brightened, "Symbolism: it's all laid out before me."

"Keep going," he urged, and rolled his paws one over the other.

"Everyone in that dream represented some part of this case, didn't they?" she realized with building excitement, "That would make Laverne me; I had a great-great-aunt named 'Laverne' that was my middle-namesake, after all. And… oh, the suitors!"

"Yeah-huh?"

"'Sir Grav' is, well, Grav, obviously, but he represents whoever's _actually_ behind all this," she thought aloud, "Grav's involved, but his role must be an _enforcer_ , not mastermind. I'd bet he'd even be in a position to take the fall in a worst case scenario; if anyone could get away with murder, it'd be _him_."

" _Murder_ , is it?"

"Yes… yes!" she gasped, "'Big Gid' is Gideon, also obvious, and while _murder_ might not be on the docket, he could be framed for whatever the effects of the _midnicampum holicithias_ whipped cream are, which must be as _serious_ as murder. That would explain the hearsay confrontation between 'Sir Grav' and 'Big Gid': motive."

"Oh, those naughty little flowers…"

"Which are represented by none other than the _gardener_ , 'Nicolaus Wilde' himself," Judy grinned triumphantly, "Since he found out about it in the first place, it makes sense that he would be the one to tell me, Lovey, about it; that must be what the songs represent."

"So, Lovely Laverne really _did_ have fox suitors, did she?" teased Dawson.

"Well, _maybe_ ," smirked Judy, disregarding the warmth in her ears, "It was a dream, after all. But going back to symbolism, Bo could represent the victims of tomorrow's drug test-"

"Bo?" he interrupted.

"Yeah, Bo," she repeated, and rolled her eyes at his bewildered shrug, "'Mister _Briar_ '? Big bunny who's head-over-heels for Lovey? Come on, Dawson, it couldn't be more obvious."

"Oh… sorry, no, not ringing any bells."

She groaned in impatience, "Okay, step-by-step, Mister Briar and Bo Briar are the same size, right? I mean, I think Bo is a bit taller compared to Grav than Mister Briar was, but it's a dream, it's not like it's to _scale_. Take Big Gid for example, he's bigger than Nick in the dream, but not in real life."

" _Was_ he bigger?" asked Dawson.

"Ye-... okay, that was an assumption, because he's called ' _Big_ Gid', and it felt like Lovey knew he was bigger, but maybe the sizes didn't translate _exactly_ ," she conceded, and huffed to hurry onto the next point, "Anyway, he was the same color fur, a rich, earthen br-... No, it wasn't _brown_ , was it?"

"I guess dreaming in color isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"It was, umm… it was more of a _golden_ color," Judy considered, and as she took a few moments to remember how Mister Briar looked in the dream, each detail disproved her conclusion until her eyes sharpened in acceptance, "He _wasn't_ Bo. Dawson, who was he?"

" _That_ is an excellent question," he smirked, propping his chin up while leaning to the side.

"But I can't have dreamt him if I didn't _know_ him, or at least known _of_ him, so I must've heard his name _some_ where; if nothing else, have an idea where I saw his face. If _you_ don't know his name, then how would I find it out?"

He chuckled, and then laughed as he sat up, rocking in his seat a bit, "Oh, the irony is too much."

Judy grunted in frustration, "Hey, help me out here. Mister Briar's identity could crack this case wide open; I feel it in my bones. Just tell me where I can research his name, and I'll do it. Please."

Dawson sighed with a smile, relaxing once again, "How can I say 'no' to those eyes… Alright, I'll give you _a_ hint: 'Let's start over'."

One beat and a furrowed brow later, "You've got to be kidding me," she said, "I can't just go back and ask some dream bunny his name, now can I?"

He smirked, lazily pointing to his right with a bright red 'X' and a sounding buzzer.

Judy looked to the mark, and then back to him, "I _can_ go back? How?"

"Simple: scoot that thumb a little lower to the 'down' button, and when the bed goes back far enough to 'click' you'll be in Ye Olde Burrow once more," he explained, pointing to the control module in her right paw.

She lifted her thumb to look at the 'down' button, "That's it?"

"That's it. And if you kept holding the 'up' button, you'd be awake."

"How is it that simple?" she challenged.

"Well," he groaned and wheeled his paw while rolling his eyes, "'Simple' might _actually_ be over-simplifying it. Remember back in high school and college, when you packed more hours into the day by forcing REM sleep for twenty minutes at a time, thrice daily? Ya'see, that took a _lot_ of intense mental exercises; make-believe rooms and company to keep you awake for long stretches, or object association to process info, that kind of thing."

"So… if I understand this correctly, for example, this hospital room is something like a creative interpretation of the transition between my conscious and subconscious mind?"

"Who knew daily exercise _actually_ had a use?"

"That's… incredible," Judy gasped, and then laughed, "Those mental exercises must have erected psychological safeguards that protected me from the neurobiological effects of the drug. All my siblings and friends said I was _crazy_ for doing them, and yet it's the reason I'm still alive! Boom!"

"It's probably _a_ reason," he postulated.

"Come again?"

"Can't know what you're safe from until you know what the drug does, now can you?"

"Well, that's only a matter of time, my dear Dawson," she grinned, gradually reclining with a whirr of the motorized bed, "I'll jump in, get his name, and jump out; easy-peasy. I might even get back in time to catch him before they finish visiting with dream-Dad."

"It's cute you think that."

The bed stopped before it was nearly flat, "It _won't_ be that easy, will it."

"When is it ever, am I right?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't be," Judy considered, "A new dream could mean new circumstances, new time frame. What should I know going into this?"

"Nothing you aren't already aware of," Dawson said, and in an instant was standing astride her waist, bent forward and holding his knees. "Ever since your awkward teenage years you've had an imaginary kingdom - cleverly called 'The Burrow' - based loosely on the romanticized bunny history of one-hundred-fifty years ago."

" _Yes_ , which I then adapted for memory exercises when I got older. We've already covered this," Judy rebutted, glaring up at the crimson rabbit a bit too close for her comfort.

"But I figure you _didn't_ include the subjugation of foxes in your original design."

An agonized silence was broken only by a steady beep of the heart monitor. "There's something you're not telling me, Dawson, something I already figured out but refuse to admit to myself," she said, "Out with it, what's going on?"

His face set as he leaned in closer and braced against the railings of the bed, "If you stare too long into the abyss it will stare back, but there's no Bobo this time to pull you from that edge," Dawson grinned and arched his brow, "Clear enough for you?" He reeled back with a surprised yell as Judy's ears flung forward to smack his face.

"I've got hundreds of brothers and sisters, so this isn't the first time I've been pestered while immobilized. _Your_ mistake was getting close enough with my ears still free," she smirked smugly, "By the way, will this be like lucid dreaming?"

"Sure, you can call it that," Dawson groaned, rubbing his forehead as he stood so he was only slightly hunched, and then folding his paws behind him, "However, I suggest against meddling until you find out what, _exactly_ , you're 'safeguarded' against."

"Go in, discreetly get the info, and evac while I still can," smiled Judy on her way back, "That sound about right?"

"Thereabouts," he grinned, and waited until she was nearly flat, "Good luck, Miss Fox."

"Come again?"

 _Click._

The ground was harder and colder than she remembered. It made for a stiff back as she tried to sit up with a discomforted groan and groggy thoughts. _What did he mean by 'Miss Fox'?_ Judy wondered, covering her mouth in a waking yawn only to discover that her mouth jutted a bit further than anticipated. Startled by the bop on her nose, she gawked at her own claw-tipped paw, turning it over with ever widening eyes and slacking jaw.

"I'm a fox…" she wheezed, cupping her face and tugging her ears, even reaching back to confirm dread suspicions with a long, bushy tail. "Why am I a _fox_? _How_ am I a fox? I'm supposed to be _Lovey_!" worried the gray vixen. After several shallow breaths regulated to lengthen and deepen, she sat on the stone floor to assess her situation. "There's a reason for this," came a scholarly tone, fingers gesturing to make a point in aloud thought and gradually calming composure, "I'm a fox for a reason specific to the case, and all I need to do is figure out the logic behind it.

"Yes, the _how_ is simple enough: it was during the precinct-mandatory 'Predator Species Sensitivity Training' after the pred-scare, when I imagined myself as a fox for a workshop," she recalled. While speaking aloud is beneficial to abstract thought, as many would attest, it's only productive when either in agreeable company or alone, "So, the question is," she continued, believing herself in either circumstance, " _why_ am I a fox?"

To Judy's terror someone managed to sneak up from behind, an improbable feat were she still boasting a set of keen bunny ears. It was the smell she noticed first, a pungent masculinity that struck like a brick through drywall, kickstarting her evasive instincts and honed reflexes to duck away from a swiping paw. What a paw it was, too, easily big enough to touch finger to thumb around her neck, despite being a fox herself.

"How'd you get in here?" he growled rhetorically.

Judy braced herself against the ground after a nimble tumble and glanced upwards at the hulking figure. "I… I…" she hesitated, squatting back on her haunches and holding out her paws to placate, "I'm sorry, but I'm not even sure where _here_ is." _That is a very big fox_ , Judy worried, _A very big, very angry fox…_ and then noticed a pair of blue eyes behind shaggy bangs. "Gid?" she gasped, standing up a bit straighter with her purple eyes locked on his.

He paused, canting his head with teeth a little less bared, "Aye, tha's me; so then you must know what _Big_ Gid does to thieves," he warned and advanced another step, clenching claws eager to rend.

"No, I'm not a thief!" she insisted in retreat, "Please, wait, you know me, I'm Jud-!" and gasped again as her rear foot bumped into a wall of crates blocking an escape route.

"I don't know no fox named 'Jude'," he snarled, and then lunged to grab but she was slippery, indeed. Ducking under his extended arm, the gray fox darted away from the crates and behind her attacker as he collided with the makeshift wall, only to push off and spin around. Were she a bunny, Judy would escape his reach without a second to spare, but the trailing length of fur, bone, and flesh was not accounted for until Big Gid wrapped his fingers around it. In a yelp of surprise, Judy clawed at the ground as she was dragged back and pinned, feeling his hot breath against her nape and claws against her back. "Last chance, _thief,_ how'd you get in here?" he demanded.

"I'm not-" she strained, forcing herself to calm despite his claws digging into her, "I'm not a 'thief', technically, unless I take or intend to take something, right?"

She winced as his fist struck a nearby crate, "Don't tell me what I know; tell me what I don't. How'd. You. Get. In?"

"I don't _know_ ," groaned Judy, straining and writhing against the unfairly nonchalant yet unyielding capture, "I just woke up in here - honest!"

The growling didn't stop, but his grip relaxed as he flipped her onto her back and crouched over her. As she suspected, his fingertips touched the stone on either side of her neck without any pressure against the throat; if she were bolted to the ground, it would not hold her any better. Big Gid leaned in and studied her face with a sniff, which only further confused him. "You said I know you," he challenged, even though his voice indeed softened, "Where d'you come from, Jude?"

 _Ohh, umm… where did foxes come from back then? He's definitely a grocer, since these crates are filled with foodstuffs; maybe he came from a farm,_ she reasoned, but as she reasoned her mind drifted to the  KCARROTS and the SCELERY awaiting delivery, and even though she was a mental construct of herself, it seemed some parts were still connected to signal receptors from her brain. Before Judy could answer, she remembered that only a cup of coffee and a lick of whipped cream nourished her since a lunchtime salad; and so groaned her make-believe stomach with perceived hunger.

Big Gid stared blankly at her face, which spared an awkward grin and chuckle, even offering a shrug while she held onto his wrist. The blue eyes narrowed as his fingers reached to her back and grabbed around the scruff of her shirt to hoist her up. Though staggered, the gray vixen found footing and looked up curiously as the hulking fox rose to full height. Other than a patient finger tapping on his crossed arm, he remained still and silent.

 _Oh, I guess he's waiting for me to prove I'm not a thief_ , Judy realized, and folded her paws to look as pitiable as possible (her tail also curled around a leg, but unsure if she meant it to do that), _Improv drama classes, don't fail me now_. "Umm… Big Gid, could you spare a bit of food, please? I would need only a carrot to get by," she requested, and looked at the labeled crate with it's crossed-out 'K'. _Surely a kingdom full of bunnies would have plenty of carrots to go around_ , she reasoned, hoping to appeal to both a logical and charitable side of Gideon's imaginary counterpart.

He didn't answer immediately, not until she looked up at him, "'Fraid I haven't a carrot to spare," he reported and scratched at his neck dismissively, looking about at some of the other produce, "Do, you uhh… have a hankerin' for anything else?"

' _Haven't a carrot to spare' my lucky foot_ , she doubted, but picked out another that she could see, "Perhaps a stalk of celery?"

"Nope," he quickly responded, "Sorry, all out."

"What about the apples?" and pointed to a crate.

"They's special order only."

"And those beets?"

"Already bought."

"You know what, I don't think I'm that hungry anymore," she ceded, and maybe it was the growing grin on his face, but the earlier tension seemed diffused and now he contented in teasing her, "Since I _clearly_ didn't take anything to eat, may I leave? And tell you what, if I ever figure out how I got in here in the first place, I'll let you know, alright?"

"Alright; you could've stumbled in here by accident, I guess. But how's about you answer my other question, Jude," he said, and leaned in once more, "Where would I know you from?"

The momentary annoyance gave way to renewed wariness at the less-than-rhetorically toned inquiry, "About that, I must've mistook you for another fox," she suggested, "Someone _else_ I knew as a… kit. I simply wasn't in my right mind when I woke up; strange place, big fox, you know how it is."

"Yer a bad liar," he smirked, "but a good reader. Must be the luckiest fox alive to last as long as you are." Considerably thick arms uncrossed, Big Gid stepped past to the crate of carrots, lifting the lid to pull out a crisp cone of orange, "This'll hold you over for now," and tossed the vegetable.

"Oh, thanks," she accepted with a deft catch, though her eyes didn't leave him _._ Her clawed fingers drummed on the carrot as he turned back towards the door of the storehouse, waving her to follow from over his shoulder.

"C'mon, Jude, you're helping with deliveries," he directed, "Got a tight schedule to keep, and you takin' up time doesn't do any good."

"Uh, sure!" she agreed, and then pondered, _Things are radically different, so all those nice preconceptions I had coming in are bupkis. I'll need to think like a fox from back then, which means… eyes down, defer to bunnies, don't get caught reading, and I answer to 'Miss Fox'._ Examining the carrot, she bit off the tip with a satisfying crunch, _I'm actually a pretty good liar, with a partner like Nick I'd have to be, and yet I couldn't fool Big Gid with a simple 'maybe I was mistaken' ploy._

Quietly munching, Judy found that the taste and texture were all she expected them to be and more, even feeling the subtle weight of food on her stomach. " _The best produce in the Burrow, bar none"_ , she recalled, glancing over a shoulder at the storeroom, _Does this carrot taste good because I_ expect _it to taste good? I_ wasn't _expecting Big Gid to be as clever as he is… although if he's Lovey's pupil, perhaps he_ would _be. I might be taking too much for granted,_ she reasoned, _What if he represents something more than the motive for the case, or even something not related to the case at all? For that matter, there could be_ multiple _threads running through this dream, all cluing at unanswered questions I've held onto my whole life. Dawson mentioned the "abyss", but what if it was more than a passing quip, what if there are things down here I repressed?_

Judy followed his lumbering form up a raised platform leading into - what she soon discovered was - a pieced-together, ramshackle kitchen. From the stove to the sink and the counters to the cupboards, the entire room looked ready to fall apart if so much as a fierce-enough sneeze hit the framework. Despite the shabby appearance, a cornucopia of rapturous scents wafted from the spices and ingredients, or the lingering aroma of freshly baked goods from the oven. _All of these smells…_ she marveled, and breathed them deep, _The cinnamon, the cloves, the nutmeg, the vinegar; I could never have smelled them from the doorway as a bunny. So, not only do I_ look _like a fox, but I_ sense _like a fox, too; I can see now that the storeroom is dimmer than the kitchen, thus, I must have night vision on top of it all._ Judy felt distant, lofty with building revelation, _Could it be that the safeguard is I'm a fox, inside-and-out? But what kind of safeguard would that be in_ this _society?_

The sudden snap of fingers an inch from her nose popped the inner monologue, "You okay there, Jude? Lookin' all out of sorts, y'are," worried Big Gid, but then a smirk tugged at the corner of his black-lipped mouth, "Oh... hit the cider _pretty_ hard last night, didn't ya'."

After a near jump from the noise, she shifted away and looked up at the apron-clad, threadbare-attired grocer. It seemed such a stark difference to how Nicolaus Wilde, the groundskeeper of a well-to-do merchant, had relatively fine clothes, albeit dirty at the cuffs, hems, and knees from his work in the garden. Judy's composure quickly recovered as she leaned on the nearby counter, adopting the nonchalance from her own Nick. "Certainly would explain a lot," she mused, and saw an opportunity, "Can't remember a thing about yesterday. Anything interesting I should know about?"

"Define 'int'resting'," Big Gid replied, turning to thumb through a stack of papers hanging by the door, and then added, "Burrow's been quiet most the week, so you haven't missed anything if you've been out a day."

"And… if I've been out the week?" Judy asked hypothetically.

"A _week_?" he looked over his shoulder, "If you've been out a week, Jude, then you ain't been in the Burrow since…" Pivoting full to face her, he leaned in with such a concerned frown he might have addressed a deathbed patient rather than a previously perceived thief, "Where'd you come from, Jude?"

 _I guess he's not letting this go, but maybe I can leave out a few details,_ "Cards on the table," she sighed, "I come from a farm far, far away from here, but I honestly don't know how I woke up in your storeroom," _Unless you can explain how someone drops into a make-believe world_ , "Now you know as much as I do."

He reeled violently as if Judy burst into flame. Turning on a heel, Big Gid paced through the kitchen, scratching his arms and glancing at her with frightened eyes, "Oh bad, bad bad bad," he mumbled, whimpered, and moaned, but then stopped so his back was to her; his tail puffed, swished in agitation as he held the counter with hunched shoulders, "If this is a lie or a prank, now'd be the time to come clean," he warned in a strained voice.

Judy no longer leaned in a casual manner but stood upright at attention, _Tell me what's going on, Big Gid_ , she bade, and approached him to touch his elbow, since she only came up to about his shoulder, "It's true, but I'm in the dark on a lot of it. Please, I need your help."

The larger fox held his breath, and when he released it the very kitchen seemed to tremble with its weight, "A big-time bunny came back from overseas a week ago, got knighted and all sorts of stuff so now he's _really_ important. Brought with him gifts for the Crown and nobles, too. I heard one of those 'gifts' was a bunch of foxes from somewhere far off; claimed they were the luckiest in the world. Word on the street is a few of them escaped or were 'freed', but it was hushed up. I didn't believe it until now, but then here you come out of nowhere," he said, and turned to look at her, "You ain't even from _around_ the Burrow, Jude, I can see that plain as day. If you're one of those that're missing, then I'm a dead fox for stealin' you…"

Judy's blood ran cold, _No… I didn't condemn him, did I…?_ she dreaded, but no sooner did it cross her mind than a faint, ominous groan filled the air. The fur stood on her nape, ran down her spine and puffed her tail; ears pointed high as she whipped her head around for the source, "What's that sound?" she worried.

"What?" barked Big Gid, jumping back from the counter and gawking at the kitchen's other exit, putting himself between Jude and the door while holding out a protective paw, "They found you!" he yelled, and though unsure of what he _could_ do if anyone of authority barged in, they'd at least go through him before they got to her.

" _Who_ found me?" asked Judy, leaning around him to look at the immobile door leading out, but the only noise was his sharp breathing as the groan faded. Soon enough, they stood in dead silence, Big Gid even holding his breath as several seconds passed without incident. The two foxes dared to relax before she whispered, "Big Gid, who would've found me?"

"The Blessed Court," he whispered back. If anything of the sort were to come through the door, it likely would've happened already, "Hey Jude," he continued, looking over his shoulder, "What was it you said you heard?"

"It sounded like the whole place was going to collapse," she explained, still whispering as she looked up at him, and then at the ceiling and walls, "If it _were_ the Blessed Court, what would it sound like?"

"Bells, lots of bells," he didn't bother whispering, and turned more to face her, "You didn't hear any of those?"

"No, I _thought_ I heard buckling infrastructure," she said, also not whispering as she stood upright again and flicked her ears in attempts to search, "You didn't hear it?"

"Buckling _what_?" he doubted, huffing a bit. He seemed put off but also relieved, "You scared me half-to-death, Jude, I thought I was gonna be hauled off in irons, and goodness knows what would've happened to _you_."

"How could you not hear it?" she asked, but it was evident by the bewildered, frustrated look on his face that he certainly did not. _That would mean only_ I _heard it,_ she realized, holding her paws to her sides under his scrutinizing stare, "What? At least it wasn't the Blessed Court, right?"

He crossed his arms with a harrumph, "You're causin' me a heap o' worry with none of the trouble, but I don't know whether that's worse or not. If you're one of those that got away, then I gots me a duty to see you find safe living, but consider your luck run dry if you run my nerves like that again." Decisively, he grabbed the packet of hanging papers and tossed it to Judy, "Enough playing around. There're a whole buncha empty crates with rope handles right inside the storeroom, fill 'em up with what you see on there and stack 'em near the double doors in the back. And make sure they're in _that_ order, got it?"

Judy, glad for the distraction from her mistake, grunted in confirmation as she flipped through what looked like receipts. Each slip boasted Big Gid's messy scrawl, and though there were some misspellings and no more than two words strung together - three at the most - they reminded her of the thank you note to Lovey. _He didn't waste any time putting her teachings to good use, did he?_ she melted, and then looked up at his waning patience.

"Big Gid, why _were_ you so protective of me a minute ago?" she speculated, " _If_ I was meant as a gift I can't imagine much harm would come to me, and wouldn't turning me in lessen your sentence?"

The severity in his eyes whisked away as chaff on the wind, until he almost looked pitying, "Jude, I don't know what foxes are like where _you_ 're from, but here in the Burrow we gotta look out for each other, no matter what comes of it; that ain't even an _issue_." He then turned his head and rubbed his neck as she loosed a grateful moan, to which he cleared his throat, "Besides, I guess you… kinda remind me of someone I know; a li'l bit."

She beamed, "Do you mean Lovey?" and then snapped her jaws tight, but an instant too late to catch a fateful slip of the tongue. _Oh, biscuits…_ thought Judy at Big Gid's dawning shock, "You know, Love _ly_ Laverne," the gray vixen spat out, "The Silver Belle? Grav wouldn't stop talking about her and her, umm, purple eyes…"

It seemed to placate him as he scratched the top of his head and quirked a brow, "You really _are_ one of those escaped foxes, aren't you? I was hopin' to be wrong about that, but I guess it is what it is if you know about _him_. And, yeah, you kinda look like Lovey - I mean - Miss Hopps…" With another, deeper throat clearing and an ushering push of his mitt-like paws, Judy was back in the storeroom, "Speaking of, I have baking to do and you have orders to fill, so, chop chop," and closed the door behind her; it nearly muted a winded sigh and unintelligible muttering, too. She smiled smugly.

Once more in the dim, Judy found her night vision made reading the receipts as easy as if he stood out in the daylight. _Where did all of this come from, anyway? I don't recall hearing about gift-foxes from my history classes,_ she pondered, and swiftly set up the aforementioned delivery crates for ease in organizing, only to stop and hang her head in dismay, _Oh no… I've spent_ hours _reading Woolipedia indiscriminately… fact and fiction could be bleeding together! No, bad Judy, focus_ , she chastised, and then recovered, _It doesn't matter if it actually happened or not because I'm only concerned about symbolism, whether it appears as noted historical figures or a giant chicken playing the guitar._

 _The good news is we're heading for Hopps Manor, and if Grav's only been in town a week, then Mister Briar might still be around. All_ I _need to do is find out his name and I can hop on out of here before anything_ really _bad happens._ She paused, thinking back to the "buckling" from earlier, and glanced warily to the ceiling, _That groaning… it was definitely like when the old warehouse was about to collapse a few months ago, and if only_ I _heard it… could it possibly have something to do with the safeguards?_ She shivered, _No doubt about it, that's the "abyss" Dawson warned of; so I can't let myself get caught up in… how did Nick put it, my "failed hero disorder"._

The menial work of allocating foodstuffs amongst crates had an oddly therapeutic effect on a troubled mind within a mind. "A bundle of carrots, three apples, and a bag of kidney beans", "a bundle of carrots, _two_ apples, and a head of lettuce", "a bundle of carrots, and three stalks of celery", "a bundle of carrots…" _I suppose in a kingdom of bunnies, carrots_ would _be the staple crop, wouldn't they_ , Judy mused, and before she knew it, she tucked the last receipt in the last crate. " _Hopps"_ … forlornly read the gray vixen, as though outside-looking-in, _Why wasn't I Lovey this time around?_

An idle tongue ran over a shard of carrot wedged between her teeth, and she grunted when licking alone would not dislodge it. Examining a brand new set of predator's claws, she utilized one particularly pointed pinky and dug out the scrap of food from her fangs. Wondering where she would sanitarily dispose of something she pulled out of her mouth, she considered putting it back in for sake of convenience but was bewildered that an orange carrot could have a midnight purple petal. _That's…_ halted Judy, and clapped both paws over her mouth to muffle a momentary scream, gawking at the crates.

"The carrots are… _Night Howlers_?" she whimpered, each bundle no longer the iconic root vegetable tucked in with beets, corn, and lettuce, but the toxic flower whose abuse brought such fear and upheaval to the mammals of Zootopia; in a blink, all were orange again. "Okay, Judy, calm down," she said after a full inhale-exhale cycle, "Symbolically, the flowers are the drug in the whipped cream; check. I put the carrots in the crates, because I introduced that drug to my system by eating the whipped cream; check. Archetypically, bunnies eat carrots the most, therefore…" she gulped, " _therefore_ , the drug is specified to bunnies; check." Judy steeled herself to conclude, "I am a fox because a bunny would've already succumbed to the drug, and there's still hope of getting out of this. Check."


	4. Chapter 4

"Okay, repeat back what I told ya'," instructed Big Gid, lifting tarts from a cooking tray with such delicacy that he might've been handling butterflies made from gold filigree.

"As far as bunnies are concerned, all foxes are 'cousins', even if they're siblings," began Judy, numerating the points with her fingers while sitting on the counter, "except older foxes are 'uncles' and 'aunties', and _really_ old foxes are either 'Gramps' or 'Granny'." _It's honestly not too different from the modern rabbits' "farmily" nomenclature_ , she pondered, _but more "brothers" and "sisters" than "cousins"._

"And?"

" _And_ vixens wear dresses; since I am in slacks I'm 'Jude', and I answer to 'Mr. Fox'," she explained and kicked her legs, _Sounds like the return of 'Jude the Dude'_ , "Speaking of, a bunny will not ask my name except in rare circumstances, and as such I should not endeavor to volunteer it."

"A bit wordy, but not bad so far," he commended, wrapping up the special delivery of Miss Hopps's breakfast, "What else?"

"'Never write more than your stove can burn', and 'anything that takes more than a glance to read is not worth losing an eye over'," Judy recited, _Morbid but necessary, considering what happens to a fox if caught doing either_. "Bunnies are 'Sir', 'Miss', or 'Ma'am', and don't look at them for too long because it makes them uneasy. That about sum it up?" she asked, and slid off the countertop.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were already a Burrow fox," he smirked, but before turning to head out the door he looked her over one last time, "Hmm… hold on a tic," Big Gid determined, and ducked out the kitchen by rounding a corner to make shuffling noises and mutter inquiringly. When Judy's curiosity overcame her patience, she advanced to investigate, but the simple act of poking around that same corner found her head covered in a promptly positioned cloth cap. "There," grinned Big Gid, standing in the doorway and looking quite pleased with himself when Judy lifted the bill, "that should hide those bright eyes of yours."

"Why, do they stand out?" she asked, and replaced the cap with a quick adjustment, even pulling it over her face a bit, _Everyone says I got my eyes from Mom, and they could always pick me out of a lineup by them_ , Judy thought, and continued to think, _so probably not the best for a low profile._

"Purple eyes ain't too common, and since they make you look like Miss Hopps with your gray fur, they could draw unwanted attention if anyone thinks on where they 'seen those colors before'," he elaborated.

"I see…" she pondered, and tilted the cap off to the side a smidgen, "In that case, I think I'm ready to hit the streets," and grinned confidently, paws balled at her hips.

"Well ya' ain't, you're way too perky," he corrected, to which she immediately deflated. He smirked and swiped his finger through the air approvingly, "Tha's much better, but try to go for 'shy and withdrawn'; should be easy for a cute li'l fox like you."

"Really, 'cute'?" she scoffed, and unballed the fists on her hips to shift weight to one leg. _Wait… I'm not a bunny, so he said that as one fox to another,_ and added before he looked too taken aback, "You… think I'm cute?" Judy folded her paws behind her and rocked from heel to toe, this time intentionally curling her tail.

"For a tomboy," he chuckled, and pushed the cap back onto her face, "But that was good, Jude, keep it up and you'll be melting bunny hearts in no time. They'll never admit it, but some think the world of us foxes, and that's includin' a few of my customers." He grabbed a pair of waistcoats from a nearby hook and then popped open the outside door.

 _Like Lovey_ , Judy smiled, adjusting the cap to its prefered askew position while walking in tow, "And what about you, Big Gid, what do you play yourself up as?"

"Simple brute," he said curtly, tossing her the smaller of the coats before shrugging his on, "I gotta be careful not to play _too_ dumb, or else I start thinkin' dumb."

"Can't have _that_ ," she said under her breath, catching the offered garment and following the shaggy hulk into the dead of night. _I didn't realize how late it was_ , she wondered, _or is it early? I guess nocturnal mammals like foxes get the most work done when their bunny overlords are asleep._

Even knowing it was the dark before dawn, Judy found that starlight was plenty to navigate by and it all seemed… mystifying, so much so she could not help but pause and witness the bustling, dimly-lit habitats of her fellow foxes. It simply took her breath away, soaking in the ambient cloud of culture that, surely, was little more than an incoherent backdrop, a make-believe amalgamation of everything she ever learned about foxes and bunnies. "Wow…" she let slip.

"Huh?" Big Gid responded, and backtracked until he stood adjacent, head swiveling to figure out her amazement, "What is it?"

"Just… everything."

After a quiet moment, he moaned in understanding, "Oh yeah, all this. I guess when you've been on a ship for… as long as you been on a ship, it's a bit surprising, ain't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so," she admitted. Nocturnal life was rare for bunnies, even in a dreamworld, it seemed, but Judy - ever the trier - sampled nightlife in Preds' Corner despite its overwhelming atmosphere; even most ecosystems of Zootopia paled in comparison to the potential of a concentrated pred population. And here, with a thousand houses on a gentle slope, no two the same yet joined in an architectural mosaic, everynight life teemed amongst the crimson shadows. What Judy felt in rabbit society, by no means sterile or dead but tranquil and vibrant, was a conditional peace that only existed, it seemed, because the practice of civility kept either side safe from one another; so long as the foxes weren't savage, rabbits maintained the peace.

 _Or maybe it's only how bunnies see predators…_ she came to lament, recalling an accusation from when she joined the police force as the first bunny officer. Judy then held her arms when ears and tail drooped, _Is this how I view foxes, in a slum? If these really are my deepest thoughts, then I am no better than those close-minded bigots I decry. Where does the objectivity end and the bias begin…?_ She gripped tighter as a buckling whine whispered between her ears…

A massive paw grabbed her shoulders as Big Gid leaned her into his barrel chest, "Don't worry, Jude, you'll do fine here. Ain't much of a liar, but you're sly enough to make up for it." There was that scent again, the masculine pungence which alerted her to danger when she first smelled it, was now mingled with warm dough, sugar, and freshly baked nuts, "It ain't a lot," Big Gid continued, "but it's plenty." He squeezed her shoulder, and then pushed her hat down, "C'mon, we're wastin' all that time you made up for."

 _Oh my gosh, that really got away from me, and I only let my mind wander a little bit_ , Judy thought, and adjusted her hat once again, _It must trigger from_ any _negative emotion; jeez, talk about self-destructive. I really need to stop beating myself up,_ she huffed, _Thanks, Big Gid, but seriously, I need to popularize personal hygiene in here (after I integrate bunnies and foxes, of course)._

Around the corner from the front door sat the grocer's delivery cart, and like its owner it was a bulky monster of a thing. Judy reasoned through basic observation there was no reason to keep it locked up, if only because it wouldn't be worth the effort to steal. It actually brought her attention to the heavy-duty doors of the storeroom and the monstrosity of a lock securing it. "Big Gid, I've got a question," she said, nimbly hopping up onto the cart as he pulled a matching key from his pocket, and grunted to allow her inquiry, "Is burglary really a big issue?"

He shrugged, "Sometimes, kits take a while to figure out how things work, so I need to teach 'em that askin' gets more than takin'."

"So, if foxes don't steal from each other, why all the security?"

"I never said foxes don't steal from each other," he grunted again, and swung the doors open as Judy hopped in, "It usually means things're really bad for 'em, and they can't even trade work for a meal, or are too proud to ask for help. Scaring 'em tends to set 'em straight, I find, and then comes the cryin' and the clingin' if they ain't scratchin' and bitin'; frankly, I'm glad _you_ didn't do any of that."

"Well… you gave me a chance to ask," she said, counting off the crates, "Hopps Manor, last stop, so this one goes in first."

"Oh, Jude," he sighed with a shake of his shaggy head, and plucked out the receipt, "Don't leave these lying around. It may not look it, but bunnies _do_ wander these here roads at weird hours, 'specially as close to Burrow proper as I am. Gather up those slips, we'll burn 'em after loadin' everything."

Her brow furrowed in thought, "Couldn't you say that they were written by this recluse bunny everyone thinks you are?"

" _No_ … not really, no, these are… a recent thing," he admitted, "I did everything by memory, y'see, so if these pop up all of a sudden-"

"It'd draw unwanted attention," Judy realized.

"Yeah, and with chicken scratches like mine it'd be _mighty_ suspect. Any bunny with a business their own won't have writing like this."

The gray vixen grinned knowingly, "Are you self-taught?" she wondered aloud, inspecting one of the receipts before handing it over.

"Oh, uhh…" wavered Big Gid, fumbling the slip of paper before joining it to the rest, "N-no, I ain't; I have a… a teacher, teaching me my letters," he said quietly.

"Teach _ing_ , so you're still at it?" she pried a little further, taking some degree of enjoyment from watching him fidget. "Knowing what happens to a fox for literacy, I don't want to think about what happens to one caught _teaching_ it."

"No surer way to dance the gallows jig, unless you attack a bunny," he said soberly. Judy grew solemn as she handed him the last receipt, to which he cleared his throat, "Anyway, 'tweren't a fox which taught me to read 'n' write," Big Gid added, his voice a bit lighter as he pulled out the Hopps Manor receipt, "Which I s'pose is a worse risk, now that I think about it."

Judy leaned in from the storeroom door onto his shoulder, "She probably chose that risk because it was the right thing to do."

"Yeah…" he said and then paused, glancing up at her with a bewildered look, "How'd you know she's a _she_?"

 _Softball pitch, Gid,_ and pointed to the revered receipt with a grin, "Lucky guess, but 'Hopps', for one thing, and you _must_ spend time together if a similarly-colored fox holds enough resemblance to remind you of her," a single paw tugged on a warming ear, "Plus, it's apparent that you think fondly of her, more so than distant admiration, ergo, you have _some_ kind of relationship-"

Big Gid's ears burned hot as the receipts crinkling in his wringing paws, "Jude!" he barked, "Tha's-! It's not-! We ain't-!" and hastily turned away from her.

Judy, without anything to lean on, decidedly fell onto the cart with a yelp. "I meant you have a _student-teacher_ relationship, Gid…" she groaned, attempting to pick herself up while rubbing her nose, _Maybe I'm not used to it yet, but how can anyone stand having these extra inches sticking out from their face?_

"After the Blessed Court's done with me, there wouldn't _be_ anything left to hang," he dreaded, unlistening while twisting the receipts in his grip.

 _Why do I feel pain in a dream, anyway,_ harrumphed Judy, and tugged on his tail, "Hey, help me up; we've still got a job to do, you know."

"Huh?" Big Gid grunted, looking to the fallen vixen, "Oh! Gosh, sorry Jude," he worried, shoving the ball of papers into his waistcoat pocket so to carefully lift and set her back in the storeroom doorway, "You're right, very right, we'll need to pick up the pace to make up for lost time."

After a quick brushing off, the two double-timed their loading in silence, which had an oddly synchronizing effect to their cooperation, such that Judy nearly stumbled to grab at a crate that wasn't there. _Oh… we're done?_ she realized, and adjusted her cap before the other fox spotted her foible. They actually finished when Judy fished out a clean sheet from the storeroom and affixed it to the cart as a cover for the produce, while Big Gid re-secured the heavy double doors.

"Ya'know, Jude," said the larger fox, releasing the cart's rudimentary braking system, "If you don't have anywhere you'd rather stay, I wouldn't mind the extra help. It's nothing glamorous like the housefoxes or Navy shipfoxes, but it's honest work; I can even pay a fair wage for someone skilled like you." Without so much as an efforted grunt, Big Gid rolled the cargo-laden cart from its lodgings and down the path to the main street.

 _Well, I'll likely be gone as soon as I go to sleep, since that's how long the previous dream lasted,_ Judy pondered, taking a seat on a front corner of the cart, "I really don't know where I'll go after today," she admitted, "but I wouldn't mind a safe place to lay my head until I figure it out."

He smiled over his shoulder, "Shucks, I can give ya' that," and snickered as he walked.

Judy watched Big Gid's frame ripple through his waistcoat as he pulled the cart, _It's like a lava lamp_ , she mused, and then sensed her thoughts drift to the real world Gideon and wondered if his counterpart had the same scars. Before even the hint of a buckling groan, she shook her head and decided to do some sleuthing, "So what's Miss Hopps like? Since you're her student, and all, you probably know her better than any other fox in the Burrow," suggested Judy _._

"Oh, she's real nice and kind and pretty, and such a voice, too. I'll definitely need to take you to hear her sing," he began, grinning wider so that it made his ears perk, "She doesn't even want payment for the lessons, but I make her sweets every morning anyway because like I said, it's an awful big risk what she's doin', so it's the least I can do." He then sighed wistfully, "But _I_ don't know her best, that'd be her housefox, goes by 'Nicolaus Wilde'," Big Gid admitted, "He tends the Hopps Manor garden, and whatnot." He nearly jumped from his fur when Judy hopped onto his shoulders, but not because her weight was of any consequence, and craned his neck to glance up through shaggy bangs, "What're you doin' up there?"

 _As I suspected, it sounds like Nick is my best bet to find Mister Briar's identity, but maybe I can get some information about his involvement in the fox community,_ Judy figured, "I've heard that name before, 'Nicolaus Wilde'," she posed, legs dangling over his chest and paws folded atop his head, "Doesn't he write Miss Hopps's songs?"

"You're slyer than I thought, Jude," smirked Big Gid, and then returned his eyes to the road, "Mister Wilde's a mangy rabbit, so that puts him right above foxes in terms of other bunnies, but his _music_ puts him right back up there with Miss Hopps herself. Well, I guess the name sounded good to that flower-sniffing fox, so he goes by it, too."

 _Gid's playing dumb, but I don't have time for that,_ Judy determined, and leaned in to whisper at his ear, "I heard there's only _one_ 'Nicolaus Wilde', and he ain't a mangy rabbit," she dared, "Is that true?"

Big Gid came to a full stop and re-craned his neck to study her, "You're _way_ slyer than I thought… you ain't one of those Bloodwood witches, are ya'?"

 _Ooh, that_ would _be cool, but as far as I know I don't have any witchcraft to back such a claim. Time for a gambit_ , she thought, "I heard about it from... Sissy, I think? It didn't really make sense until now, though." _She seems like a vixen in the know, and might be well connected if she has to deal with an audience of foxes on a bi-weekly basis._

He snorted derisively, and then shrugged his shoulders to renew the cart's momentum, "No wonder you showed up in _my_ storeroom, must've heard my name tossed about and figured it a good place to find food. I guess me and her need to have another chat about privacy."

 _Hold the phone, if this guy's "Big Gid" and she's "Sissy", then why do we have a fox_ known _as "Nicolaus Wilde"?_ Judy came to realize, _Could it be a pseudonym, rather than a nickname? I always thought that foxes used nicknames for fun, but now that I think about it it's frequent,_ insistent _, even._ Judy thought back to the visiting Hexward bunnies in Preds' Corner with a brighter look in her eyes, _They referred to Nick and Esther as "Mr. and Mrs. Fox", but what if that_ wasn't _species insensitivity, what if it actually has historical roots? If foxes kept their identities hidden, going so far as to crossdress to disguise themselves, then they surely wouldn't go throwing their names about, especially not around mammals with such acute hearing; bunnies could only know foxes as "Mr. and Mrs. Fox" out of necessity._

"Why don't you want your name bandied about?" Judy asked, leaning over on his head a bit more.

"Same as every other fox," he answered simply enough, glancing upwards at her, "Ask anyone and they'll say my kitchen's open for those that need it, but I still have a business to run so unless they give back in some way-"

"No," she interrupted, "I mean when it comes to bunnies. Mr. Wilde doesn't seem too worried about it."

His eyebrows arched in patient grimace, as though trying to explain something obvious and awkward to a child, "You see all these foxes? First, they're the names they know each other by, and then there's the name their family gives 'em, and finally, there's their _secret_ name which only _they_ know, something they choose when the time is right. You prob'ly don't have secret names where you're from, since you don't live under bunny law."

 _Curiouser and curiouser_ … "What happens under bunny law?"

"If a bunny knows your name, then the queen can control you and there's nothing you can do about it," he explained rather matter-of-factly, "So, to protect ourselves, us foxes have secret names; if a bunny don't know your secret name, then you can skirt around bunny law, which makes you safe in the Burrow."

"And… _outside_ the Burrow?" she wondered aloud.

"It's dang'rous outside the Burrow, Jude, and it's safe in here so long as you're sly about it," he grinned, "You're pretty smart, so you'll get the hang of it in no time."

 _Well, I've only got a day to get enough of a hang of it so I don't hang myself. I'd rather not find out what happens if I die in a drug-induced coma-fantasy_ , she shuddered, _but that's worst case scenario stuff. Discreetly get the info and evac while I still can, that's the plan,_ and relaxed atop Big Gid's shaggy head.

Judy enjoyed the ambient noise in the nearby houses, waving to nameless, imaginary foxes filling in the corners of a make-believe world, but even so, they did little, subtle things that gave them a spark of life. She heard soft songs that reminded her of bunny lullabies, or stories drifting up from open windows with names or deeds she thought she recognized, and even interactions some of the kits did reminisced her own childhood, _It's like taking a stroll down memory lane_ , she marveled. At times, Judy gazed to the bright stars overhead, wondering if they seemed a bit _more_ because of her nocturnal eyes, or if it was simply because the dreamworld made them more luminous. For a while, she let herself be at peace with it all.

A river marked the edge of the fox neighborhood from the lower class rabbit houses, and spanning it was a wide, stone bridge of excellent masonry, perhaps the most intricate and gaudy piece of architecture this side of the divide. Eyeballing it, a dozen foxes could stand fingertip-to-fingertip and still not reach over either edge (which didn't have protective walls to keep anything from falling off). It was not the most heavily guarded area, except for watch posts on the rabbit-side, for only the luckiest and stealthiest of foxes could sneak across such a bridge without proper cover.

"Alright, we're coming up to the Burrow proper, but before we do I need to make a quick stop. You see that fire and the pair of foxes at it?" Big Gid pointed out, parking himself to the side of the road but still several paces from where he directed.

"It looks like they've got something roasting on skewers," Judy observed, sitting upright and using his head to get a boost in height. It was then she smelled it, that mouth-watered aroma of roasting fish with mushrooms and carrots sprinkled in spices she could barely recognize; its allure stood the nimble gray vixen on Big Gid's sturdy shoulders so she might lean in. Never could the smell of fish kick her tastebuds into overdrive as it did now, on the contrary it usually made her gag, but "Oh…" she swooned with a deep inhale, until "Oh!" she yelped, tumbling forward over Big Gid's head. If the larger fox wasn't already stopped and cracking his knuckles in a shoulder-hunching stretch, Judy would surely be in the dirt at his feet.

He looked down at her, quite a clumsy sight indeed sprawled in his outstretched arms, feet nearly curled over her shoulders with a puffed tail. She looked up at him, bewildered with self-disappointment at making such a display of herself. Big Gid laughed, righted Judy on the ground, and then pushed the cap over her face as he shoved a bundle of torn receipts into her paws, "Two skewers, and tell 'em they're for Big Gid," he instructed, turning her about to usher towards the fire.

Judy corrected the cap while hugging the ball of paper to her chest, _Sweet cheese and crackers, it's a good thing none of this is real and I won't have to live with that,_ she frowned, stiffly walking from the cart, _I should really stop using Gid as jungle gym._ She approached something of a small courtyard bound in waist-high brick wall, with the height difference made up by cast iron fencework. It took all of her considerable willpower to retain countenance the nearer she got to the savory scents of barbecue and the last shreds of self-control not to drool when standing adjacent to the firepit.

"Mornin', cousin," said the thicker of two gruff-faced foxes sitting around the blaze; he was missing an eye and wore a patch to cover the scar. The other, likewise, lacked an eye but didn't bother to cover it, and stirred the fire with a metal poker where a paw should be. Between them and behind the fire were two barrels, one with the handle of a ladle hanging out while the other likely held fish. It also seemed that there were some odds-and-ends of crates and bags in a handcart further back.

 _Oh… I guess they were caught reading, and_ he _was caught writing,_ "Good morning," Judy responded cheerily, and promptly added, "Cousins!" Looking between either disinterested fox, she then asked, "Would it be alright if I tossed these in?"

"Sure, but first tell me somethin' I don't know," challenged the eye-patched fox, scratching at his bare chest in idle expectation.

"Oh, umm…" Judy pondered, _Aren't they part of my brain? More so than Gid because they might be one of those vague, background mental constructs, so they should know everything I know. Unless, there was something they_ shouldn't _know as foxes in the Burrow_ , and then grinned, "Did you know that rabbits enjoy the smell of ivy in their potpourri?"

The gruff foxes exchanged a quirked brow, and then the first smirked with a permitting gesture at the fire, "Tha'll do." Judy set the incriminating papers to burn, watching as it flared up against the skewers and reflexively licked her chops. There were numerous skewers cooking, some even sitting off to the side over warm coals, as though on display in a shop window.

"Hungry, cous'?" asked the other gruff fox (though by the pitch and timbre of their voice, sounded more female than male).

"Yes," Judy returned, blinking from the mesmeric dance of flame beneath each sizzling kebab, and then remembered, "Two, please, for Big Gid."

"Yeah?" said the one with the eyepatch, and craned his neck to peer through the cast iron fencework to spot a hulking figure leaning patiently on his cart, "A'ight, let him know there's a ship comin' in at sundown, and we could use the help unloading. Same goes for you."

"Me?"

"We'll need every hand we can get," said the gruff vixen, and sat back on a rock with a tap of her red-tipped poker against the fire pit, "It's a _big_ shipment, ain't that right?"

" _Really_ big," he confirmed.

 _Oh, this could be a clue! Sundown representing closure, and what's delivered could represent discovered information, maybe not about Mister Briar specifically, but at least to the case,_ Judy smiled, "You can count on us, cousins," and picked up a skewer in each paw, careful not to grab any part directly over the coals, "At sundown you say; which dock?"

"At _the_ dock," emphasized the eye-patch fox, reaching down to pull out a handful of blueberries from a nearby satchel, one of which he flicked high and caught in his mouth. "Say 'ah'," he instructed, readying a second blueberry for Judy.

"Thank you, bu-" she declined with all mustered politeness, but stopped short when an accurate blueberry flew right past her lips and onto her tongue. A chuckle was shared between the gruff foxes as Judy snapped her mouth shut, and then stuck out her tongue with the blueberry sitting at the end. Their watching made Judy a bit anxious, but she slurped her tongue back in to spit the berry high in the air and catch it again in her mouth. Swiftly, Judy munched and took a bow to their momentary applause (hers was more a clapping of the knee).

"Yer all right, cous'," laughed the gruff vixen.

"See you at sundown," he said with a smirking click of his tongue.

Judy nodded with an affirming grunt and hurried back to a waiting Gid, savoring the blueberry taste on her tongue, _I still got it, just like my berry-picking days,_ she beamed, but then cringed, _or that one time at BU… I really hope_ that _isn't dredged up while I'm here._

"Lookit you scampering over all eager like," he teased, holding out a paw to accept the scrumptious breakfast, "What's the job?"

"Big ship. Sundown. _The_ dock," she bullet pointed, and then handed off Big Gid's kebab before hopping onto the cart.

"Mmh," he grunted and tugged off a bit of the fish to munch, "Sundown, huh? Must be a special delivery, because _nuthin'_ comes in at sundown unless it is."

 _Promising,_ "Why, because twilight is when the bunny and fox shifts overlap?"

"You could say that," he shrugged, and finished off the fish with a savoring moan, "You prob'ly don't know this because bunnies don't like talking about it, but the waters around the Burrow suffer from pirate attacks if the sun ain't up, so the earliest or latest anything's done at the dock is when the sun is touching the horizon. Ships don't cut it that close without good reason."

Judy gasped inwardly with excitement, _This is amazing! Navy versus pirates... representing my body's natural defenses against the toxin, it has to be! But what about the rest...? Hmm, day and night - the known and unknown, maybe? The fact the rabbits don't want to mention that such a problem exists, but the foxes will, has to be significant... could it have something to do with the toxin having such a different, and worse, effect on rabbits than on foxes? Or maybe it's because rabbits just don't want to think about being prone to drug use (not that I would ever do that, of course). The symbolism is everywhere, I just have to figure out what it all means! For now though, that's my story and I'm sticking to it._ "A pirate?" Judy feigned concern, "Which pirate is this?"

He glanced up while munching his mushroom, "You ever heard of Bag-o'-Bones?"

 _No…_ she thought and "...No?" she said.

"A pirate captain, real scourge of the seas," he continued, licking sauce from his fingers, "No one's _ever_ faced him and lived to tell the tale, so how he looks is a bunch of hearsay. But ev'ryone says his head's only a skull with dull red eyes and sharp teeth, even sharper than _these_ ," he explained, and pulled back his lips to show his own fangs, "which he uses to eat the meat off the bones of his victims _._ "

"Eww…" _What b-movie did_ that _crawl out of?_ she grimaced, _This skeletal pirate captain isn't ringing_ any _bells at all, which is a shame because I figured he'd be significant. Why would a predator bother filing down their own fangs, anyway? It can't be any scarier than rows of fangs already are, and even with cutting edge periodontics it'd be an excruciating process. Something's not adding up here._ "Why don't bunnies talk about him, is it because he keeps eluding the Navy?" asked Judy, and then snapped her fingers, "Or maybe his name is cursed."

"Nope, none of that," Big Gid explained as he pulled off the roasted carrot, giving it a quick blow before popping the whole thing into his mouth, "Well, maybe his name's cursed, but it's 'cause he's a _bunny_. I heard about it from a friend of mine that saw him way off-"

"Wait a minute," Judy sighed despite herself, "Is Bag-o'-Bones missing a foot and half-an-ear? Carries around a meathook and a bonesaw? Smells like death warmed over?"

"Oh ho, so you _have_ heard of him?" grinned Big Gid.

"As a _ghost story_ when I was a kit," she scoffed, though carefully, remembering the finer details if she actually grew up a fox, "No explicit mention of being a pirate, though, captain or otherwise." _Dang, it's just some lingering childhood fear of the boogierabbit. Got my hopes up and everything,_ she brooded, _I mean, he might still be significant, but I don't need to go chasing any loose threads. Get Mister Briar's name and get out; no lollygagging._ She then continued at Big Gid's inquisitive smile, "Except we called him 'Hector Redbeard', because of the _blood_ dripping down his chin," Judy dramatized, and then stuck out a leg with a wiggle of her toes, "Or 'Unlucky Hect', on account of his missing foot."

The larger fox shrugged and smirked, "Jus' 'cause it's a ghost story doesn't mean it ain't real," he said offhandedly, and with a flick of his wrist drove the skewer into the ground, "His name _is_ 'Hector' I hear, so it's prob'ly the same bunny. Best finish up, Jude, moonlight's a-wasting."

 _Odd thing to say, considering the lack of a moon. It must still be below the horizon,_ Judy assumed, and pulled the carrot off to follow suit by flicking her own skewer into the ground (but ate the roasted root vegetable in sensible bites). _I don't recognize any of these constellations, either, yet the Burrow is supposed to be a mirror of Bunnyburrow? Unless it's actually a distant kingdom, even in a different hemisphere than Zootopia,_ she pondered this development, listening to Big Gid hum a cheery tune while pulling the cart along, _Actually, ol' Unlucky Hect might provide some insight on that if I can figure out his geographical influence. It will be a while before I talk with Nick, so tugging this loose thread a little bit won't hurt._

"Since we're not yet in the midst of bunnies, what else can you tell me about Bag-o'-Bones?" she asked, "We'll be on the waterfront at sundown after all, so I want to be prepared in case anything unexpected happens."

His shoulders shook in a deep chuckle, "No need to worry yourself about _that_ , the Navy'll keep him away, but since you asked I don't mind sayin' that he won't go near foxes if he can help it."

"If he doesn't like foxes, what's there to be scared of? The Burrow's _teeming_ with foxes," pressed Judy.

"It's a… whatcha-call-it… a double-edged sword, yeah. He's wary of foxes, more so than your typical bunny, so he won't let a fox out of his sight if there's one nearby, but also wants to get rid of us. _All_ of us. Seeing a fox's face could stay him, especially if he thinks there's another skulking about, but he won't hesitate to attack one with its back turned."

She sighed in smug realization, "So _that_ 's why the Navy has 'shipfoxes', and naturally, the night vision is useful below deck."

"Yep! O'course, bunnies wouldn't _dare_ put a fox's face on any of their sails or ships, so when they got shipfoxes they run up a smaller flag under the royal flag to ward off Bag-o'-Bones," elaborated Big Gid with a merry air, "'Watch out, we got foxes!' it should say, but it don't."

Judy couldn't help but laugh at the prospect, but did so with enough composure that it remained in the realm of amusement, rather than mockery, _It's a flag designed to convey a simple, easily recognizable meaning, so if anything it would have a-_ "A fox's face…" she muttered.

"Right on a shield, like a fancy coat-of-arms, it is," Big Gid said.

 _A fox's face on a shield to ward off Unlucky Hect?_ Judy bubbled, _Hect's… ward. Hect's ward. Hexward! It's Hexward! Hexward is involved and I need to find out how! And why!_ Excitably, she fumbled around at her pants pockets to pull out a notebook bound in cured corn-husk; gripping a rudimentary charcoal pencil, the full force of Judy's police investigation muscle memory hovered above the paper. Her blood froze, her bones froze, and every nerve went numb as her whole body trembled. She had a notebook. With writing. _Her_ writing. Her _thoughts_ : "Nicolaus Wilde: pen name?", "Night Howler drug designed for bunnies", "Foxes call each other cousin", to name a few.

Judy snapped the notebook shut and shoved it into her waistcoat pocket, whipping her head around while holding the coat close. Every strand of fur stood on end from the base of her skull, down her spine, and to the tip of her tail, _Where did I get this thing? When did I write these notes?_ she nigh-panicked, heartbeat inside her ears, _I can't keep this notebook, it'll get me in trouble; it could get_ Gid _in trouble!_ Judy yearned for the distancing fire over her shoulder, "Hey Big Gid," she strained for normalcy, "shouldn't we have returned those skewers?"

"Not unless you want another blueberry," he snickered, "kits gather those up and wash 'em, teaches 'em responsibility." Lo' and behold, a small fox plucked the sharpened sticks from the ground and then scampered to the small courtyard.

"Oh… yes, good for them, yes," Judy ceded, and kept the opening of her coat cinched, eyes darting at the looming bunny houses, _It's okay, I'm okay, no one saw the notebook and no one_ will _see it, all I need to do it keep it hidden until I find another, conveniently placed fire. Or… a stove, like Nick's stove. Great, good, I only need to survive until we get to the end of Gid's delivery route where I can burn this notebook without arousing suspicion. Super._ Luckily, Judy's coat had a single button to fasten. She did so.

 _But what if… what if I_ can't _get rid of it?_ she continued to dread, _Those notes appeared on their own, and I didn't even know I_ had _this until a second ago. Even if I burn it, it might not go away. But what if it_ does _burn and everything I learned goes up in smoke with it? I could wake up and remember_ nothing _, then this would all be for naught. Or worse… this could represent my waning consciousness! What if destroying it traps me down here? I would be in a vegetative state for the rest of my life. I have no idea what could happen, and no real way to test it._ The notebook felt heavy as lead in her pocket, and each step towards the guardposts on the other end of the bridge weighed it heavier still. _So, I'll take a page from Nick's playbook and hide it until it's not a problem anymore. It's only for a day, and I can survive a day, no problem._

"Remember, Jude: shy and withdrawn," Big Gid reminded over his shoulder, to which Judy jostled from her introspection to grip the coat closer, "Okay, that's pretty good, but you might wanna relax a bit, or else you'll worry the bunnies."


	5. Chapter 5

_I suppose it's better_ I _found out about this notebook now instead of someone_ else _finding it later,_ Judy rationalized, discreetly tracing through the fabric of her coat at the forbidden item tucked away in her breast pocket, _All it would take is one bunny to discover it and I can kiss my paw goodbye, and I don't want to find out if I could lose its use after waking up._ She crossed one leg over the other and rested an elbow to her upturned knee, "Right, 'shy, withdrawn, relaxed', got it," she promptly agreed, "I guess I'm still a bit anxious. What if someone recognizes me?"

"That's what the cap's for," smirked Big Gid, "Also, give it a tip in greeting, bunnies really like that. I would do it m'self, but I don't care for hats," he explained, "So, the nightwatch up here will check under the sheet and make sure that it's only produce I'm bringing in. They know me, so as long as you don't draw attention to yourself everything should go smooth," and then added in a whisper, "A crate will 'fall out the back', if you catch my drift, first one on the left."

 _That would explain why it had cider in it,_ Judy recalled, and centered her core with a deep breath, _Gid's got this under control, so follow his lead and there won't be anything to worry about._ She set the cap a little further over her eyes when Big Gid sagged his head, watching his gait sway from surefooting to subtle, oafish lumbering. Judy re-evaluated her own posture, letting her shoulders hunch and legs uncross, bracing the edge of the cart on which she sat with her knees brought up together. When the lightly armored bunnies came into view, Judy found that the notebook's weight heightened her senses as it kept fear of discovery to the forefront of her mind.

Exiting from the guard station and onto the bridge, a scruffy rabbit of faded ginger fur approached beneath a cone of lantern light, "Mornin', Big Git; who's this taggin' along?"

"He's my cousin," nodded Big Gid in a slow drawl, and then smiled at Jude with endearing simplicity. Judy glanced up and quietly grunted with a return nod to the guard, even tipping her cap to greet.

"Yea, you all are 'cousins', aren't ya'," chuckled the rabbit, and then turned to the open doorframe to call through a cupped palm, "Oi', sluggards, time to earn your pay." Out filed two more guards after some reluctant shuffling, mahogany-furred rabbits with varying off-white splotches, similarly armored and armed with bludgeons.

Judy didn't move until she was instructed to, and only did so carefully with her arms held meekly in front, but made sure to stay near the cart. _Routine police inspection, you've seen this a thousand times,_ she reminded herself, paying close attention to Big Gid's lax composure, and then glanced to the ginger guard. Standing on the ground, it was odd to see an adult bunny so much shorter than her, _His ears barely reach my chin,_ she noticed, _I mean, it's not like I haven't met smaller mammals before, or smaller rabbits for that matter, but_ this _feels so surreal. I really am on the outside looking in, aren't I, being a fox_ , and her mind began to drift, _I wonder if there's the start of an imaginary plague going around to represent the spreading drug-_

"You," approached the head guard with commanding authority. Judy snapped to attention (and only managed to bite back a "Sir!") when he gestured with his bludgeon, "Who did you hail from?"

 _Wait, "who"?_ she blinked, and peeked at the ginger rabbit from under the bill of her cap, "What do you mean… Sir?" Judy said, noticing the subtle shift of Big Gid's head at the brewing inquisition. Her paws lifted for a twiddling of the fingers, figuring it a fairly fox thing to do.

"The master or captain you served," he explained in distinguishable patience, "No street fox _I_ 've seen carries such poise as you, so you surely served in a house or on a ship before _this_ ," and waved at the grocer and his cart.

 _Oh, biscuits_ , "I… didn't serve _any_ one-ah!" she winced at a swift flick of the guard's bludgeon on her wrist. Her head snapped up to glare at him, but ducked her face before crossing that precarious threshold and sufficed to rub the swatted spot, _Ow… I don't think it'll bruise, but still, ow_.

"Each lie earns you a hit," he said matter-of-factly with a _tsk-tsk_ of the baton, "Bear in mind that runaways are dealt with _harshly_ , Mr. Fox, and deserters more so."

"What I mean is," Judy said, clearing her throat to speak softly, "it wasn't in any _official_ capacity. I woke up in the hold of a ship, and worked until I got back to port. Ask my cousin, I fall asleep in the oddest places and get in the _worst_ trouble because of it," and then looked up to Big Gid for support, who craned his neck with a nodding grunt of confirmation.

The head guard groaned his dissatisfaction, " _Whose_ ship?"

 _Okay, Dawson said (well, didn't outright_ deny _) that this might be like lucid dreaming, and clearly things can change if only_ I _know about it,_ raced Judy's mind, thinking back to her solitude in the storehouse with the momentary Night Howlers, or the fact she manifested a notebook in her pocket while on a dark, otherwise empty bridge. _Therefore, maybe I can make something fit into this dream history if it's believable enough,_ "Captain… Bogo," she tried as calmly as she could, " _The best lies hold a nugget of truth", says Nick, and I_ did " _protect and serve" under Chief Bogo._

"Captain ' _Bogo_ '," repeated the unconvinced ginger. Judy stiffened when his bludgeon swung and struck the stone of the bridge in a quick succession of taps, "Bogo… Bogo…" he pondered before addressing the guards in the cart, "Oi'! Why does 'Captain Bogo' sound familiar?"

 _So far, so good_ , breathed Judy _._

"'Bogo'?" repeated one of the mahogany rabbits, leaning on the rail, "I recall Captain _Beau_ regard, so 'Bogo' would be the term of endearment from his crew."

 _Awesome,_ she thought loftily, _let's hear it for that lucid dreaming article I read in the doctor's waiting room._

"Amiable fellow, he was," said the other mahogany rabbit, "Until the sea swallowed him up in that storm over a month ago."

Judy flinched in momentary sadness at the news that someone she called into being was fated to such an unfortunate end. _It's only a dream, he wasn't real… It's only a dream, he wasn't real…_ she repeated calmly, knowing she could not let the safeguards buckle under the weight of negativity.

"Oh, yes, Captain Beauregard…" muttered the head guard, "Frightfully tragic, but no sailor worth his salt dares set sail on a Friday, much less a _thirteenth_ ," he shuddered. The other two raised crossed fingers on each paw to hold their breath, until the head guard promptly knocked three times on the wooden cart; then, and only then, did the guards breathe easily. The ginger guard studied Judy a moment, "You're quite the lucky fox, despite unusual sleeping habits," he commented without a hint of the recent dread.

"All clear, Sir," said the other mahogany rabbit, also without any of the recent dread, as he and his fellow guard hoisted the cider-laden crate with a gentle clink of glass. After removing the first crate on the left, they refastened the sheet and Judy hopped back onto the cart.

"A good morn Big Git, Mr. Fox," said the ginger rabbit as the mahoganies hauled their delivery back to the guard station, "Take care where you lay your head," he then mused, to which she tipped her cap and smiled politely.

Well from the cone of lantern light, the foxes disappeared into a gap of shadows between the bridge and the first lamplit lane. Though the bridge was wide, it was clear to Judy that anyone with a cart couldn't simply roll on over and into town; where the bridge ended, the wheel-friendly, stone-lined path made a 'T', stopped by a raised area that followed the gentle slope of the city. Pedestrians were unimpeded thanks to a single flight of short stairs and sturdy, narrow dividers, but drivers or cart-pullers traversed around and up a shallow ramp to enter the streets.

Big Gid scanned wide and over his shoulder before speaking, "Aren't _you_ full of surprises," he said in his normal speaking voice, if marginally quieter yet more excited, "All this time I thought you couldn't fib your way out of a bag, and there you go foolin' the first group of bunnies you come across. I prob'ly would've believed you m'self if I didn't know better."

Judy couldn't help but beam at the adulation. Honesty is an unfaltering core belief of hers, but she also knew that when the police force required covert operations, Judy and Nick proved themselves the go-to team to get the job done, and that required a certain _finesse_ with facts. _Poor Captain Beauregard, though, even if he was only a mental construct,_ huffed Judy, returning to her withdrawn sitting position when Big Gid staggered to oafishness in the gold aura of oil street lighting, _Everything has a cost, it seems, and meddling sinks me a bit deeper into my own mind. I somehow need to survive the day, yet it's not even dawn…_ She sighed, gazing at the overhead stars.

It happened in an instant, as these things often do, when two falling stars crossed paths as she stared skyward. The frequent imagery throughout her youngest years lost a bit of its mystique, but seeing that simple flicker of lights hinted that she knew things would work out somehow. _Yeah_ , she brightened, _I can do this. I just need to stay true to myself and think positive,_ and then allowed a smirk, _Luckily enough, it's_ all _in my head._

If the trip through the fox neighborhood and that brush with the bridge guards taught Judy anything, it was that she needed to _think_ not only like a fox from the Burrow, but like a fox, _period_. Everything she observed from Esther growing up and Nick in the past several months pointed to one thing: smug nonchalance. Whatever happened was according to some subtle planning and manipulation on their part, even if it seemed like a tight situation from unforeseen circumstances; at least, that's the kind of confidence a fox projects.

The hardest instinct to ignore was her hyper-vigilance, but once Judy accepted that her ears were not a rabbit's yet her nose was keener by far, the radius of her attention shrunk to her immediate surroundings. The oil of the lamplights, the flowers in a windowsill, the trash in the gutter, even other foxes working in the alleyways, all painted with olfactory senses. The transition unwound her, she found, since no longer need she strain her ears to compensate, for what was beyond their scope held no dire concern. Tangentially, she needn't flare her nostrils and inhale to receive information from the unseen; it simply… happened.

Likewise, the deliveries simply happened, one after the other, one house or business to the next; very "smooth" as Big Gid put it. For the most part, it involved Judy hopping down with a full crate, and picking up an empty crate to replace it (since each were bunny-sized, she could be off and on without Big Gid even needing to apply the cart's brake), but there was the time she met a homely rabbit at the door, weathered by life but standing tall despite it. _I wonder who she is_ , Judy thought, and gave a tip of her cap when the maternal bunny reeled in surprise at the new face. The apron-clad bunny leaned out as far as she dared to catch sight of Big Gid, and then sighed in quiet relief with a cordial smile to Judy as she picked up the empty crate with the most polite smile she could manage. _To be fair, she's never met me before,_ Judy pondered when the delivery was carried inside, _Even if I were a bunny, I bet she'd still be wary. Guess I need to work on my heart-melting._

There, with the last delivery and the gray of dawn diluting the sky, Judy and Big Gid found themselves approaching the kingdom's higher tier. It always loomed in the distance, but with the lightening backdrop of fading stars its own magnificent architecture set the standard for life of the more fortunate. From the higher vantage point of the still gently sloping city, Judy allowed herself a sweep of where they'd been. She could see the fox neighborhood to one side, and at the other she saw the harbor, some smaller ships visible and moored, yet one, enormous dock on which a grand navy vessel returned from its nocturnal patrol. Its snowy white sails were furled and anchor dropped, already secured to its berthing after a long night of protecting the kingdom.

"Hmm…" Judy pondered aloud as she recalled something Esther mentioned many years ago; perhaps some obscure information gathered in that time could shed some light on the subject. _It will have to wait,_ Judy anxiously realized as the cart rolled to level ground once again, _This is neither the time nor place to ask about Piberius Savage_ , because Big Gid halted the cart before they reached the top of the ramp, craning his neck with pinned back ears as he peeked over the crest. Likewise, Judy sat up with discretion to gander at what stayed the large fox.

Fortunately, there were no gatekeepers, much less a gate to keep, but the larger houses and tall walls projected a certain intimidating presence which dissuaded trespassers and deviants; the atmosphere was a palpable defense, and the armored constabulary was a tangible defense. No less than three rabbits marched down the street: one held a lantern at the front, the second rabbit held a large book, while the third held a standard on which bells quietly chimed (she could not see what the banner depicted, since they were marching away). Each had a sword at one hip, a quiver of bolts on the other, and a crossbow slung across their back.

Big Gid dared not breathe until they lock-stepped out of sight and the ominous chimes faded from earshot. Judy leaned in to whisper when his shoulders relaxed, "Was that the Blessed Court?"

"Aye," he whispered in a nod, "They walk the streets before dawn to let the other bunnies know it's safe. It's always at the same time, so my deliveries _should_ happen right after they finish, but I guess we were early today."

"And you worried we'd be _late_ ," teased Judy and clapped his back, to which he smirked over his shoulder.

"You watch that cheek, Jude, or else I'll hafta take off the kit gloves," he warned.

"Promises, promises," she grinned. They shared a muted chuckle before rolling onward to level ground.

It certainly felt like a different city altogether, from the architecture to the very air, rich with the smell of flowery gardens and cleanliness. Housefoxes moved quietly beyond private gates and fences, finely garbed and well-groomed such to designate them as employees of the higher class bunnies. Big Gid did not venture too far through the well-to-do streets, rather skirting along the outer edge unless absolutely necessary.

It was then that Judy recognized parts of the area, like _déjà vu_ except recalled from when she (as Lovey) rode in Master Hopps's motor carriage to the concert hall. _Which must be out towards the other side_ , she reasoned, _that would explain why those streets were completely new to me, and why I didn't see any theatres on the way here. It feels like only yesterday, yet it was an entirely different life. Speaking of the Hoppses, it looks like they're the only customers of Gid's in this area_ , Judy noticed, spotting the last crate amidst its emptied kin, joined only by the still warm package of specialty tarts.

It was _then_ that Judy recognized the manor and its surrounding hedge, the gold of dawn barely cresting the tip of its roof. Not until that moment did she truly feel on the outside looking in, and each heavy step worsened a repulsion of alike magnetic poles. _Will… will I see Lovey? What will happen? Will we connect somehow? Will she know? Oh my gosh, how could it not occur to me until_ now _that my dream-double will be walking about without me? I blocked it out, is what I did. I thought nothing would come of it, but here we are, almost at the scullery entrance. I can't let_ any _one here see my eyes, they'll know in an instant who I am,_ and so tugged down her cap until it nearly sat on her nose.

"Okay, Jude, last one," whispered Big Gid, "Normally I give Miss Hopps's breakfast to Miss Tillie herself, but since we're early I figure we can set it at the door as usual. I don't wanna dally if I can help it."

"You got it," complied Judy, and lifted the corner of the sheet to hoist out the final crate, careful to balance the special package on top. Swiftly and quietly, while Big Gid watched from the end of the walkway, she switched out the empty crate for the full one, eyes on the door for any signs of movement. _Phew, all clear_ , she thought, and scampered back to the cart to set the crate upside-down with the rest, "Okay, let's skedaddle," she prompted.

He quirked a brow over his shoulder and rolled onward, "Who set _your_ tail on fire?" he asked, "Looks like you done stole somethin'."

 _I certainly hope not,_ but she grinned and shrugged, "Seeing that knightly patrol got me in a state," Judy whispered, and then clenched her jaw when she heard the drawl lacing her speech. She nodded towards the manor, "And if _you_ think I look like Miss Hopps, can you imagine what _they_ would think?"

His eyebrows arched severely over a frown, "Oh, tha's a good point. Okay, we're done here, so skedaddlin' is what we're doin'." They only just disappeared around the corner before stopping to the sound of the rustling hedge; Big Gid's nostrils flared as a tall figure skulked into view, boasting a charcoal black traveler's jacket and bowler hat.

"Shave and smoke me, what great luck," hushed a starkly familiar voice, vibrant green eyes cast up from beneath the short bill of his hat while he cinched a striped scarf around his neck.

"Nic?" Big Gid wondered aloud.

"Nick!" Judy chimed simultaneously.

He bounded up onto the cart to sit at the front corner opposite of her as soon as he appeared. "Not a moment too soon or to waste, cousins, we'd do well to make ourselves scarce from the premises," urged the gardener with a shoo-ing of his paw, "And if it's not so great a hassle, might we stop by the theatre? This is news I'd rather heard from me than the grapevine."

"O'course," agreed Big Gid, and lurched forward with a steady pace, though perhaps only a notch higher than his earlier lumbering, "but you gotta say what's all the matter."

He swiveled his head once more before gesturing Judy closer, pointed inside the cart, and then fluidly lay atop the overturned crates with his hat held in one paw. Judy followed suit, but kept her cap secured atop her head. "Miss Hopps awoke in the dead of night with a ghastly scream, and then fainted with acute brain fever," he began in a whisper, to which Big Gid's ears swiveled back to listen, "Master and Madam Hopps are in such a state, but were courteous enough to announce near an open window their plans to call in healers."

Big Gid groaned in understanding, "Not the best place for a fox, then."

"How come?" Judy asked reflexively.

Nic turned his face to address her with a look of surprise and bewilderment, but then smiled cordially (with a hint of smugness) to hold out a paw to shake, "Apologies, cousin, that was quite rude of me. Nicolaus Wilde, welcome to the Burrow."

 _Oh hey, it's Nick in all his snarking glory, that only took thirty seconds_ , she grinned and beared it, reaching over to grasp his paw and shake it, "Jude; just 'Jude'," Judy replied, "So you're this 'Nicolaus Wilde' I might've heard about."

"To know my fame reaches beyond the gates of this city is encouraging," he grinned.

"Except whom _I_ heard tell about was a rabbit riddled with mange and other such misfortunes," she recalled.

"Do you often make merry of other's plights?"

"Only those named 'Nicolaus Wilde'," smirked Judy.

Nic grinned wryly, "I would very much like to hear your story, Just Jude, but another time.

"The Blessed Court is not hesitant to dole out blame for a wrong, and a fox is as likely a target as any ill-fated food or misplaced item of consequence. Only yesterday, if you do not already know, Miss Hopps was a stunning picture of health, but _today_ , she is beset with brain fever? Terrible luck, that, and terrible luck is no welcome to a fox when the Blessed Court is involved." He lifted his head and gazed about as the slope of the cart indicated their exit of higher classes, to which he sat erect to adjust his hat.

 _If the timing matches as I think it does,_ thought Judy, likewise sitting up to set her cap in a more comfortable position, _then it might actually be a fox which caused Lovey's condition. Brain fever, at least as they understood it, wasn't fatal back then, so she should be okay with plenty of bed rest, but still, how curious. This might be another part of the safeguard. Would it have been like traveling back in time and seeing my past self if we met?_ she idly wondered.

"It's no wonder you're as early as you are, Big Gid, this fine young fox is as sharp as they come," said Nic, reclining in the corner of the cart with his arms propped up on the railings, "Where did you find such an assistant in a single night?"

"More as it is, _he_ found _me,_ " the larger fox grinned over a shoulder, before slumping them and shifting his gait back to purposed oafishness. Judy watched as Nic's demeanor, otherwise a keen-eyed and energetic individual, slacked into a lethargic vagrant hitching a ride in a passing cart, the bowler hat down on his nose when nudged by a thumb. Far be it for Judy to break the charade, and sat curled up against the other corner of the cart, knees hugged to her chest and tail curled around her ankles. She glanced out the corner of her eye to catch the livid green iris of Nic's, and shared in the smile it gave.

Day broke and bunnies filled the streets. When Big Gid's cart was parked behind the theatre, the foxes' simple silence whisked away as if galvanized from removing their masks. While Judy hopped off without hindrance Big Gid held up a paw to block Nic, clearing his throat expectantly. After a moment's thought, Nic grinned to a limerick:

There once was a fur-grooming maven

Whose assistant was all bare and shaven.

When asked why it was, he said it's because

"That's what you _do_ when your hare's misbehavin'!"

The large fox burst into a laugh as he held his sides, a gesture to allow Nic to exit.

While Judy felt she was getting the hang of how foxes exchanged chores and entertainment for food and favors, she did quirk a brow at the exchange, taken aback at the humor that the imaginary counterparts shared. _That sounded offensive to hares. Was that offensive to hares? I didn't even know hares were shaved_. "Shaving is punishment for hares?" she asked.

"Shaving is punishment for _all_ ," corrected Nic in generic disgust as he alighted on the ground, "though more often reserved for foxes, on account of a certain… market for what it produces. However, it's not uncommon for a hare or bunny to feel the edge of the razor for disciplinary purposes."

"So, those fox-fur cigarettes _aren't_ a source of income for foxes?"

"A mistaken pretense, Just Jude, those dreadful things are neither 'healthy' nor 'profitable'," Nic continued with an air of cynicism, "My advice is to avoid both the barber and the pharmacist which share a tenancy."

"Masters can claim the fur off a fox's back as 'payment' to settle a debt, and then sell it to make those," Big Gid further explained in grimace, "I was hopin' to not hafta mention it, but I guess if you don't know then you don't know, and now you know."

"It's the Burrow's dark secret that the Court knows this particular trade is harmful to all involved, but have yet done anything to end it," Nic concluded, and then tapped the side of his nose, "And you didn't hear it from _me_ , but not every fox-fur cigarette is made from the fur of a fox."

 _That's definitely indicative of something; I hope my notebook is jotting all this down, because I'll need to look into what happens in Bunnyburrow once I get topside,_ Judy determined and waltzed up to the back door staircase.

"Cousin," Nic reprimanded using a _tsktsk_ of his finger, and grinned with a sweeping point, " _We_ enter yonder."

"The cellar; right," Judy said, and followed along to the slanted double-doors, _How else would they get under the stage._ "Who has the key?" she asked, noticing the padlock and chain binding the door handles together.

" _Ev'ry_ fox has a 'key'," Big Gid smirked, and gestured to a shrugging, smirking Nic. Though the cellar doors were securely padlocked, Nic opened one door wide by dislodging its hinges. "After you," bid the grocer in a polite motion, accepting the heavy wooden slab as the two smaller foxes walked in, and then securing it behind him with a latching sound.

Inside looked like… a normal cellar, used for the storage of things that the theatre above didn't want taking up space, like spare pulleys and rope for the curtains or chairs that needed repairing. Despite Judy's night vision swiftly adapting, there wasn't much to see, but instead of voicing her opinion on the obviously mundane underground storage room, she knew better and followed Nic's nonchalant stride. Quite casually, and after removing his bowler hat, Nic ducked his head under a long plank of wood leaning in a far corner of the cellar, sufficiently disappearing around a freestanding shelf.

 _Ah ha, there's the a hidden corridor,_ Judy grinned, likewise slipping beneath the board and staying close to Nic's tail, _these walls have some kind of carpeting on them, almost like soundproofing,_ she noticed, running her paws along them. The corridor was long and narrow, but Big Gid seemed to squeeze through by shuffling sideways and sucking in his gut (needing to stop once or twice halfway along). Judy's eyes were up, trying to map out where she would be if in the theatre above, _But judging by the location of the back door, this should lead directly underneath the stage itself,_ "Oh!" she groaned upon collision, "Sorry, Nick-"

"Perhaps your attention is better spent away from the ceiling," he mused, and guided her upright from the momentary slanted posture with a polite ushering against the shoulder, and set his hat back upon his head as he continued towards the far opening.

Nothing moved beneath the stage as they entered into the spacious area. Perhaps the most notable aspect were the rows of low benches, which if Judy tilted her head one way and then the other, looked like ribbings for foundation, _You wouldn't know what they were unless you were looking for them_ , she smiled, and stepped out of the way as Big Gid yanked himself out.

"D'you think Mister Earwicket will let me leave out the back door?" he wondered with a clearing of his throat and an adjusting of his jacket, "I suffer that twice a night _only_ when Miss Hopps is performing, not to run errands."

"You need not have suffered it at all if you waited outside, cousin," Nic reminded.

"I'll have you know I've my _own_ matter of business that needs seein' to," he huffed.

"Considering the news of the day, wouldn't bringing up a petty grievance be a bit much for Sissy?" Judy suggested, _And so avoid a_ faux pas _on my part_.

"A valid point," agreed Nic, "There's no closer fox to our beloved Miss Hopps, and whatever this 'petty grievance' might be surely pales in comparison."

The thick arms crossed with a snort, but Big Gid grumbled his acceptance, "A'ight, I'll talk with her another day about it," he paused for a thought, "It does seem kinda… petty, don't it, in the scope of what happened."

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're on about, but my answer would be 'yes'," smirked the gardener, "It's no means personal, Big Gid; by Sissy's standard _any_ grievance brought before her is petty."

"That don't mean she can go throwin' my name about as she likes," persisted Big Gid, "I spoke with her about it before-"

"Did this _particular_ instance lead to one 'Just Jude' finding you?"

" _Yes_ , but-"

"In which case, you should consider _thanking_ Sissy, rather than berating her," he smugly concluded, "Who knows which establishment those sharp wits would otherwise grace?"

"He _did_ offer me a job as his assistant," Judy stated matter-of-factly.

"How providential," beamed Nic, "It might behoove us to mention this fortunate turn of events, then, so to soften the blow of Miss Hopps's ailment."

"Well, let's not bog her down with information," she quickly insisted.

"Nuthin' doin'," grumped Big Gid, "I'll let slide not givin' her a talkin' to, but I ain't indebtin' myself to her."

 _Weird,_ thought Judy, _Somehow, I reimagined history with Captain Bogo but making up where I could logically hear Gid's name is coming back to bite me, and yet he believed_ that _claim but not that I mistook him for someone else._

It was to Judy's benefit that she introspected on the stairs since neither Nic nor Big Gid uttered a single word, and despite the latter's heft, made nary a sound on their ascent. At the top was a trapdoor, which Nic crouched under and put his ear to, and breathed slow with a wide flaring of his nostrils at the crevices; ever so cautiously, he pushed up to peek out through a narrow band of light in a wide sweep, and then opened the hatch completely. Judy swiftly progressed only when signaled to do so, keeping low and looking about to calibrate her own internal positioning.

 _Backstage, and it looks like the other side from where Lovey's dressing room is,_ she observed, relaxing her stance in a crouch as Big Gid's bulk slid itself out from the hole in the floor.

"All set, cousin?" said Nic in a low, but not hushed voice, smiling as he beckoned her over. Judy smiled back and nodded, following close as they moved along the open stage towards the starlet's dressing room. At the door, engraved with a modest brass plaque of "Laverne Hopps", Judy felt a nostalgic awe bubbling under her fur, since she was at least foot shorter the last time she saw it. _It's like I haven't been here in years_ , wondered the gray vixen, and held an elbow at the faint contradiction of warmth and coolness she felt.

Nic reached out and dragged two claws along the length of the door, and then flicked three times in quick succession. A few seconds later (if she strained her ears to listen), Judy heard the faint sounds of sniffing on the other side before it opened enough for Sissy to peek through. Her piercing blue eyes studied the three, and then lingered on Judy before permitting their entrance.

"What matter of import is this, Nic, that you would interrupt on a performance day?" inquired Sissy. She was garbed in colors mundane and unimpressive, from faded greens and dull browns to dirty off-whites, but how she wore them and how she stood was nothing short of royal personage. Still, it was odd to, after so long, stand eye-to-eye with Esther's imaginary counterpart, and despite herself, Judy let her gaze linger on a face bereft of her iconic bangs (though didn't let their eyes meet).

"Only to save you what tragedy I could of finding out later rather than sooner," Nic replied, removing his hat in a debonair bow, but then stood upright to hold the headware at his chest as though to grieve, "It is grave news concerning our beloved Miss Hopps."

Sissy's eyes, once sharp and strong, wavered into a pleading stare, and it seemed she needed a moment to collect herself as both paws gripped at the apron and dress, "What befell our Lovey?"

He took a deep breath, and exhaled, "Brain fever."

The scarlet vixen put a paw to her forehead, "I… I see. Thank you for telling me," Sissy said after a long pause, but it seemed some moniker of composure returned as she straightened her posture and dress, "Lovey is strong willed, not easily beaten by such a trifle. Give it a fortnight, maybe a month, but her voice will fill this hall like never before. In the interim, I shall inform Mister Earwicket when he arrives later today so he can make alternate plans."

"Our services are ever at your disposal, Sissy," grinned Nic, and returned the bowler hat to his head, though tilted back.

"Your service already spared this theatre the great trouble it takes to set up for Lovey's performance," she smirked, and then turned to Big Gid and Judy, "I dare not indebt myself to you lot _further_."

"It wouldn't even be an issue," Judy chimed in, "Anything you need, Sissy."

"Don't go volunteering," smirked Big Gid, pushing her cap down onto her face once more.

Sissy spared a giggle, "I'm afraid a debt is already owed, Big Gid; it's no secret that your cart is the surest way through the city, without which I doubt Nic could deliver his message before anyone else arrived."

The larger fox grinned bashfully and rubbed the back of his head, "Consider it a debt paid, Sissy, since it was thanks to _you_ that my new apprentice found way to my kitchen."

"So went the plans to traverse my way here, thus freeing up my entire morning," Nic mused, and approached Judy from behind to clap her shoulder, "In no small part to our newest cohort."

"Bless me, is that who this is?" the scarlet vixen wondered, and directly addressed an avoidant Judy, "However it happened, it seems you've proven yourself invaluable this morn. As you already know, I'm 'Sissy'," she said, and presented a paw in a very ladylike fashion, "To whom do I make so fortunate an acquaintance?"

"I go by 'Jude'," the gray vixen replied, and grasped the paw politely, "Or 'Just Jude', as you please." She smiled and lifted her head, but kept their eyes from meeting.

"So shy," she cooed, and looked down at the held paw, thoughtfully brushing the fur.

"As it is, Sissy, I've need of your expertise," Nic interjected, and fluidly swiped the cap from Judy's head, "Whose eyes are these?"

The vixens' eyes locked, and the gray one bit back a yelp and attempted to look away, pull away, escape in some manner but the scarlet's paws were too quick, too sure, and yanked to not only hold her wrist, but now her jaw. Judy saw the blue shift to silver the longer Sissy stared into her, and while she knew her police training could slip out of that grasp without delay, it was all she could do to stay standing under that gaze.

"Oi'!" barked Big Gid, and lurched forward to intervene but was swiftly stopped by Nic.

"Hold, cousin," he warned, and looked over his shoulder.

"Who are you?" demanded Sissy, uncertainty giving way to indignation, "I know your fur, your breath, your lips… your eyes. You are our beloved Lovey, but a _fox_. How?" Suddenly, her ears went pale and she released Judy, both stumbling back while Sissy joined the other two red foxes, "Are you a _witch_ of the Bloodwood? Did you curse her and take her likeness?"

"No, she _ain't_ ," denied Big Gid, "She's one of those foxes Sir Grav brought as a gift, but she escaped and she's been hiding out in the Burrow for the past week."

"None of those foxes were fortunate enough to escape, Big Gid," corrected Nic, and pulled out Judy's notebook from his coat pocket, "However, whether or not a witch, what say we find out what she knows?"

 _My notebook!_ fretted Judy, clapping and checking the empty pocket of her own coat to find only the charcoal pencil, _He must've picked it when we collided in the corridor…_

The larger fox's eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, looking over Nic's shoulder at the stationary bound in cured corn-husk, and then he stared at Judy in disappointment and betrayal.

The gentle whine rang through Judy's ears, but she straightened her back and raised her chin, eyes burning with determination, _Okay, brain, you forced me to do this. I won't let you collapse on me, especially not using my own friends. Time for some creative re-imagining: first, I dressed up as a witch when I was a kid, so,_ "I was once a witch, outside the Burrow, but now, I am only a fox. The notebook appeared when we crossed the bridge," she began, and thought on something Lovey mentioned at lunch, "It's the result of the Blessed Queen's protection on the kingdom. I am marked by that notebook, and cannot part with it anymore than I can be seen with it."

 _It looks like I have their attention. Alright you superstitious, make-believe world, time to get a dose of truth and logic. Secondly, I_ am _Lovey, for all intents and purposes,_ "My name - my _secret_ name - is Judith Laverne Hopps," she said to a collective gasp from the red foxes. "I came to the Burrow a few days ago, and shared a day with Lovey." She smiled up at a wavering Big Gid, and took a step forward, "It was the day you wrote Lovey your gratitude in a note, and it made her _so_ proud. I didn't realize until today how much danger you put yourself in to deliver it to her, but it is safe and cherished inside her music room," she continued, and then looked to Nic, taking another step forward, "Along with all forty-eight of your songs, including If You Could Come With Me. You gave her a yellow tulip that day; do you remember?"

Nic's eyes softened, and for the first time since Judy saw him that morning, she remembered the gardener who shared secrets with her through an open window. He dropped his rueful gaze to the still closed notebook, and then looked up to her again as she stepped towards Sissy. The scarlet vixen looked desperate to escape before her paws were grasped, and found that the gentle hold might as well been steel. Bracing herself for whatever Judy might reveal, she relaxed when it finally came, "Whatever am I to do with myself if I'm none the wiser of _five_ suitors?" Judy whispered, and guided her closer until mere inches separated them.

Sissy remained quiet, but it seemed her blue eyes locked onto Judy's violet ones, and she could not help but smile in revelation, "Regrets, have we?"

"Only that I am not as vigilant as I believe myself to be," Judy sighed in recitation.

Shakily, but happily, Sissy responded, "Confidence becomes you, Lovey."


	6. Chapter 6

Judy patiently sat in Lovey's chair as the starlet did before her. The make-up application process was at times ticklish (to which Sissy further tickled), and at other times spine-tingling when the soft bristles sifted her fur with all the force and sound of a faint breeze. How Lovey held a conversation during it all without getting anything in her mouth boggled the mind, and it set Judy's train of thought to how she could possibly comprehend something so incomprehensible (like how Sissy convinced her to be made-up in the first place). Instead, she pondered on something easier to wrap her brain around: how she managed to convince the imaginary counterparts of her friends that she was not Lovey magicked into a fox, and that she actually needed their help but not the other way around.

I guess my lack of a melodious singing voice helped in that respect. Mom and Dad always said I could be a great singer ever since the Lucky Stars Youth Choir, but a police officer was the path I chose to make the world a better place, Judy thought, and running around with my friends was more fun than staying in and practicing. It seemed to seal the deal that Judy was, as she claimed, "only a fox" when she couldn't hold a high C; I could if I practiced it, Judy inwardly grumped, grumping especially when that was what so readily convinced them. As it stood, Sissy was enamored by the idea that, even though she was not Lovey herself, she was certainly how Lovey would be, were she a fox.

"Cease this torment, Sissy," Nic quipped and grinned, pulling a needle through Judy's jacket as he secured the breast pocket with a secreting flap, "I doubt Just Jude shares the sentiment, your endearing curiosity notwithstanding."

"No, it's fine," she said through barely moving lips, even though it was her eyelids which a soft brush next applied make-up.

"Cease your torment, Mr. Wilde," Sissy quipped right back with a dismissing sweep of her tail, lifting the gray chin to study her mouth, "Judith does me a tremendous favor to allow my doting."

It was because you said I was like your younger sister, which I can hardly say 'no' to, Judy mutely rebutted, and straightened again when Sissy began applying the lip balm, Mmh, it kinda tastes like cherries. She pressed her lips together and popped them while the scarlet vixen took a step back to allow line-of-sight with the mirror. "Oh… wow," said Judy, finding herself mesmerized by the vixen staring back: her fur was no longer a smokey gray but rather a polished silver, the dark of her lips and nose caught the eye, and it seemed her violet irises shone a bit brighter amidst it all; she dare not touch her own face for fear of displacing anything. "I feel like I should be wearing a dress," she giggled, but closed her eyes and mouth (and tried to close her nostrils) when Sissy spritzed her neck and chest with a lavender perfume.

"Then to whom shall this newly pocketed coat go?" Nic asked dryly, but didn't miss a beat in his sewing as he cut the thread with a claw. Judy looked over her bared shoulder as Nic rose from his seat, stepping from behind the privacy screen, "I'm no tailor, but I daresay this pocket will stay the more curious fingers of-" he stopped, looking up from his handiwork to address the vixens, namely Judy, but could only manage a dumbfounded repetition of "of".

Sissy leaned over and put her face next to Judy's so they might share a sly grin, "Since we're daresaying, I daresay that is the highest compliment of my craft I could hope to achieve; wouldn't you agree, Judith?"

"I can't recall the last time Nick's been this articulate," she concurred with a tap of her own chin, "Plan was to remove the make-up before too long, but maybe I'll keep it on." Nic attempted to recover his nonchalance, but managed only by avoiding eye-contact with Judy.

"Honoring as it would be, this makeup is not for the street," lamented Sissy, "However, mayhaps for the time being, I can find you a becoming dress to go with it?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Judy chuckled, shrugging her shirt on to button it up, "You've done a wonderful job, though." It seemed to Judy that the imaginary counterparts of her friends doted unnecessarily, ever since she mentioned that Lovey "gave her a day"; Sissy with her make-up, Nic with the pocket flap, and Big Gid was surely on his way with the tea he promised.

As the grocer walked in and out of the room, bringing the table on his first trip and a chair in each arm for the subsequent second and third trips, he seemed uncomfortable, though not on account of any particular fox or reason. Judy knew he wasn't mad, per se, only that he needed time to think, as did they all, about how everything transpired. After all, she was dishonest about where she came from, on the other hand it was unanimously agreed that he wouldn't have believed her anyway. Regardless, the smell of hot water wafted into the room as Big Gid ducked and shouldered his way inside for the fourth and final time, courtesy of Nic holding the door open.

"I could not find anything sweet, save the condiments," he articulated, something he did ever since he thought it possible that Lovey could know he wasn't striving for grammatic betterment outside of their lessons, "so we must suffice with cheese and…" wavered Big Gid, the tea tray slipping from his grip and into the clutches of a readied Nic. Judy sat at the table in one of Sissy's best jackets, glancing up at him from over the edge of a fan and under the brim of a very lady-like hat with a batting of her emphasized eyelashes. To Big Gid's partial benefit, his numerous voice lessons collapsed into indecipherably accented speech (although the tone of it was, more likely than not, flattering), and so masked whatever fuel for friendly teasing he might provide his fellow foxes. However, the burning red beacons of his ears spoke what words never could, especially when Judy lowered the fan and smiled her sweetest.

What happened afterward kept Sissy in uproarious laughter as Nic ducked under Big Gid's sweeping log of a tail while the large fox hastily pivoted to leave, who then promptly struck his forehead into the top of the doorframe with a thundering crash. What Nic hadn't counted on was that though he dodged the tail and kept the tea tray from falling, the door caught the full brunt of that swinging tail and bounced off the wall to smack his back. Judy dropped her fan and nearly knocked over every chair in a brewing panic to prevent further catastrophe, arriving only in time to catch the flying tea tray and wheel back as Nic sprawled on the floor, no worse for the wear. All seemed saved until Big Gid fell atop Nic, to which all of Sissy's remaining ladylike composure collapsed in hysterical merriment. Judy set the tea tray on the table to grab Nic's outstretched paws.

"I would like to point out," he wheezed as she attempted to free him from the oppressing bodily mass of a dazed, giant fox, "that I harbor no regrets in my participation of this practical joke."

For sanity's sake, Sissy removed the makeup and Judy slipped back into her newly-pocketed jacket before they all joined at the table for tea, cheese and crackers. Regular breathing returned to both Nic and Sissy, while Big Gid denied any manner of cranial soreness (and hid behind his shaggy bangs more often than not when addressing Judy, who found his bashfulness endearing).

"Alright, to business," announced Judy.

"To business!" cheered the others, holding up their teacups in a toast.

"Yes, right," she hesitated, idly pouring some honey into her tea, even though Judy didn't much care for honey in her tea unless it was to aid a sore throat, "As I explained earlier, Lovey gave me a day in the Burrow, a day which I need to accomplish a very important task."

"Quite the mystery, this task of yours" Sissy pondered aloud, "For a Bloodwood witch to risk the Blessed Court is nothing short of suicide."

"A witch wouldn't," argued Nic, adding more sugar to his tea, "Or perhaps more appropriately, couldn't. The Blessed Queen's magic is far too powerful to allow even the slightest hex to slip through the gates, and the bunnies' wards too numerous to suffer such arcane craft."

"Tha's why-" Big Gid began, cleared his throat, and corrected himself, "That is why it was Lovey who gave her a day. No one else would that could, or could that would."

Nic mulled on this as he sipped, "Quite so, Big Gid, quite so… This task might very well be a reckoning beyond anything the Burrow's seen before," and set his teacup down decidedly.

Judy had plenty of time to consider this while sitting and being made-up, and of the few explanations she could think of (with either growing outlandishness or risking further damage to the safeguards) she finally settled on something she conceived earlier that morning. "I wouldn't say it's a 'reckoning', Nick," she began, and set her own tea down, "I've come to stop a plague."

Silence.

"A… plague?" Nic finally asked, caught between disbelief and denial, but both doused with desperation.

Judy nodded and rubbed her knuckles, "A plague so terrible, so overwhelming that not even the queen herself will survive. Bunnies… foxes… none will be spared."

"Judy, how can you know such a thing?" doubted Sissy, though hushed, "A plague is not an invading army or a storm, it does not announce itself with drums or thunder."

We'll omit the fact that I brought it with me… "I know by my craft," she asserted, "And by my craft, I came to the Burrow to save it."

"As memory serves, our help is needed for such a task?" recalled Nic with a severely arched eyebrow, "A gardener, a grocer, and a makeupper-"

"I need the help of my friends," Judy urged, and looked to each of them, "I'm already halfway with your help, Big Gid, no other fox in the city could've gotten me here when I needed to be."

"'Here'?" Sissy continued to doubt with a gesture to herself and Nic, "To us?"

"No one better," confirmed Judy, and thought on what she learned about the Bloodwood witches, "When I shared the day with Lovey, I missed out on the opportunity to get someone's name, a name which once gotten will divine the way to stop this plague."

"Whose name could hold such power?" pried Big Gid.

Please sound more impressive aloud than it is in my head… "Mister Briar."

"As in… Squire Briar?" Nic asked.

"Y-yes, him."

"Sir Grav's 'confidante'?" Sissy clarified.

"Yeah."

"Did he perchance bring the plague with him?" postulated Nic.

"I'm pretty sure he didn't," answered Judy.

"Well," Big Gid loftily interjected, reclining in his chair with his paws folded behind his head in a smug grin, "I don't pretend to know how witchery works, but seems like I already finished my part in all this. It's up to the two of you to save the Burrow from damnation, and all you need is to name one li'l bunny."

"The reason for his name is not important, at least for the likes of us," asserted Sissy.

"Indeed, we need only supply it and Just Jude can handle the rest," agreed Nic.

Oi'… huffed Judy, "Correct, so long as I have his name by the end of the day, that should be that."

"Or, get his name now and enjoy the rest of your day in the Burrow," Nic smirked triumphantly, "When Sir Grav is especially humorless, Mister Briar goes by 'Robert'."

"Robert," she sighed and slumped a cheek into her palm, "of course it's 'Robert'." It's only the most common male name for rabbits, averaging at a measly four percent throughout recorded bunny history, but hey, "Robert Briar" should narrow it to only a few several hundred thousand living and dead individuals. If I hunker down, take a sabbatical from the ZPD, and devote my time to researching why a "Robert Briar" might be significant to Night Howlers, I could get lucky and find an answer before I retire. For crying out loud, "Bo" is short for "Robert", but Dawson already nixed that theory. His golden fur could narrow it down further, and maybe more so if I had a middle name, but fat chance I ever happened upon that useful bit of information. She sighed, "Alright, 'Robert' it is."

"Mr. Wilde, you've disappointed our guest and friend," Sissy said before a sip, "I rather thought you a slyer fox than that."

"Perhaps the next time an apocalyptic plague needs stopping, I'll stick to my flowers and be done with the lot of it," he scoffed.

"C'mon Sissy, don't blame Nic, names aren't something a bunny chooses, not like a fox," Big Gid teased.

Judy blinked, "Nicknames…" she quietly repeated, looking first to Nic and then to Big Gid, "The names you know each other by. 'Big Gid' is your nickname, right? It's short for something."

He grunted in confused affirmation with a pause.

"And 'Sissy', that's a nickname, too," she pointed out, and had to contain herself when she thought, It's not the same as in the city, but across the Tri-Burrows nicknames are accepted as an official name on some federal documents, like medical records or death certificates. He might have a condition or disease which the Night Howler mimics! and rocketed from her chair, "I need to find Robert Briar's nickname, the name his friends know him by!" She brightened and addressed the red foxes staring at her, "Of course 'Robert' is the most common name for male bunnies, but it's also shortened in a dozen different ways, the same with 'Jonathan'. Don't you see? If I find his nickname, I can find his identity!"

"A curious proposal," Nic said after a moment of rubbing his chin, "Although a good deal trickier, isn't it Sissy?"

"My dear Mr. Wilde, the only 'tricky' part here is finding Judy again at the end of the day," she grinned, "Mister Earwicket, though tolerant of foxes, does not suffer them to loiter on the premises (or anyone, really), and with an open program tonight there's no need to make him any madder than he already is. You lot must find hospitality elsewhere, I'm afraid."

"Looks like it's Big Gid to the rescue again," chuckled the large fox, "We both'll be (I mean, 'We both will be') down at the dock unloading a big delivery. Just look for me, we'll stick close by."

"Yes, but what to do in the interim, I wonder," Nic mused, "Sundown is still some many hours away, so you'll need someone to help you lie low until then, or perhaps show you around the very place you're here to save."

"And what about Mister Briar's name?" she asked, looking to Sissy.

"Consider it found," the scarlet vixen dismissed jovially, "A string or two pulled will reveal it in due time, my love. Though we might not get the chance to spend the day together, perhaps with your task complete, we'll have the evening?"

It all depends on whether accomplishing the goal is what triggers my way out of here, "I look forward to it, Sissy," she smiled, "As for you, Nick, there is something I would like to see, and it sounds like you're the fox to get me there."

"No door in this city is closed to me," he grinned, and then teased, "As a fair warning, Just Jude, getting into the palace will require more time than your current allotment."

Judy's request, as surprising as it was to the others, was well within the realm of possibility for Nicolaus Wilde, especially since it was still in the lower half of the city. They set out before mid-morning, bidding Sissy and Big Gid a farewell until next they met, and scurried off. Bathed in sunlight, the buildings and alleyways cast their harsh shadows, the remaining night cringing in corners and covered walkways, but the streets were alight with long-eared activity. Rabbits and foxes mingled with a density that heavy leaned towards the former, as such the atmosphere, once secretive with a free-form ambition, was now orderly, amiable, and filled with purposeful direction.

Though they skirted the crowds and streets, she endeavored to absorb what happened in this lower class bunny culture; of all, it reminded her of her adolescent and prepubescent years, when she decided that the world needed bettering, and she was just the bunny to do it. Those were the years when Judy brushed the dirt off her knees and face, no longer dragging around a loose understanding of justice but developing the moral and ethical code needed to truly protect those in need. Her many early attempts upheld the rules of a game even if it didn't benefit her or her team, progressed into fair treatment no matter the species or background, and by the time she was six- or seven-years-old felt she had a firm grasp on right and wrong. Which was why she flinched and bristled with the offhanded catchphrase, "Can't help a fox". I have some serious re-evaluating to do down here, she fumed, keeping the cap over her eyes to refrain from glaring.

"If you're to last a day, you cannot bare teeth at every slight," Nic quietly smirked over his shoulder, and then ducked down an alleyway before vaulting up stacked crates to a high ledge.

Judy followed suit without a hint of trouble, "It sounds more like a colloquialism than a rule, though," she wondered aloud, "Does it mean that it's 'bad luck' or something to help a fox in need, or foxes will never be more than they are?"

"Astute as always, and correct on both counts," he commended nonchalantly, and lifted up a seemingly smooth part of wall for her to duck through, gesturing with a sweep of his paw, "After you." Inside was what Judy realized she needed most of all, something that played at her thoughts ever since she laid back in that hospital bed the last time she was a bunny. "Pray tell, Just Jude, what use have you for an attic filled with discarded books? If you had your whole life to read, much less a single day, you would not get through half of this sorry lot."

Well, if you weren't watching I'm sure I could conjure a few answers to some lifelong questions I've had. Since Sissy is working on getting Robert Briar's nickname, I don't need to worry about it and therefore have some free time to surf my own memories. "I won't be reading all of them, of course, I only need to figure some stuff out. It'll be like…" Oh, what was it called… "Bibliomancy! That's it. The books themselves will tell me what I want to know. It's a witch thing."

"Shave and smoke me," muttered Nic, rubbing his neck, "To think your craft could work inside the queen's protection boggles the mind. What could you possibly hope to gleam with such a risk?"

Already amidst the towering piles of books, some so high they almost wedged against the rafters, Judy looked about, sniffing the dust and must of old paper and bindings, "I'll admit, I don't expect to find any real answers here. It's a limited source of information and it might not even have what I'm looking for, but hey, I've got all day for research. And no one will be up here today, right?"

"Not at this time of week," Nic replied, and picked up the nearest book to turn it over, "I rather hoped to show you where foxes go during the day, an eternal quandary of Miss Hopps's as I'm sure you know."

"Tell you what," Judy smirked over her shoulder, "I have one particular question I've wondered about for a while now. Help me find some answers on it, and we'll head to all the cool fox joints in the Burrow."

He scoffed, "Perhaps you should join Big Gid in one of his grammar lessons," but shrugged in good humor, "Present your question, Just Jude, and I shall enlighten you as best I can."

She chuckled once in recollection to the bantering with her Nick, and picked up a book to flip through the pages, "I'm looking for a fox surrounded by lots of hearsay, some that he's a pirate and others that he was an admiral of the Royal Navy, goes by the name of 'Piberius Savage'. I wanted to ask Big Gid earlier when we saw the ship in the port over the rooftops, but it didn't seem like the right time." After a noteworthy silence, Judy looked up from the book and closed it, turning towards Nic to find him… disquieted. All at once, he seemed skeptical, cynical, smug, scared, confused, and curious. "Nick?"

Nic's vibrant green eyes focused once again as he looked up to her atop the book pile she scaled, the sunlight trickling in from cracks in the ceiling to reflect off dancing dust. He paused in careful planning of his next words, and removed his bowler hat to hold it casually behind his back, even though he jut his chest with pride. "In which case," he finally said, "you needn't read a page more, Just Jude, for you have found him."

Scrambling down the slope of books, Judy nearly pounced onto her best friend's imaginary counterpart, grabbing his shoulders and staring into his face, "Oh my gosh, 'Nicolaus Wilde' was a pen name! And here you are, Piberius Savage; how did I not see it sooner…?" She cupped his bewildered cheeks, "The signs were all there, but no matter, you're here now and we have privacy to talk." She pulled him by the wrist over to a table covered in books (which she haphazardly pushed away) and gestured he join her in sitting. "Okay, I have lots of questions to ask about you, and all day to ask them," she giddily explained, and then pulled out the notebook to flip open a blank page, charcoal pencil at the ready.

"I confess myself woefully unsure about this," doubted Nic, setting his hat down on the newly cleared table and carefully seating himself upon a stack of books, "Whatever rumors you heard about me as anything so adventurous as a pirate are greatly over exaggerated, and the day a fox makes admiral of the Royal Navy is a day the kingdom turns on its head. I am but a gardener-" he insisted.

"And a famous composer," Judy swiftly added, "to one of the most beloved singers in the Burrow, no less. Now, clearly you're not a sailor, but have you had any aspirations or dreams about becoming one?"

He crossed one leg over the other while balancing atop his makeshift seat, paws folded on a knee as he cobbled together a sense of refinement, "No, I cannot say the sea holds any allure for me; I quite prefer soil to water," he answered, "Does any of this happen to coincide with the plague?"

"Probably not," she chuckled with a dismissive wave, "That's being handled by Sissy, Mister Briar's nickname and all that, and we'll get the information we need at sundown. This is a matter of personal curiosity; you see, where I'm from - outside the Burrow - there is a conflicting history about you, 'Piberius Savage', and if I can get the straight story from you, maybe I can help correct it," beamed Judy. So, no aspirations to join the navy, but it's possible he was conscripted for some reason or another, and somehow got ahold of the ship. Also, every depiction I've seen of Captain Savage has him with a hook and an eyepatch, which means he was caught reading and writing, so this is all checking out. "How does one become a shipfox?" she asked, "Is it voluntary?"

He scratched behind an ear, "A complicated answer, that. Few foxes take to the sea lest to fish, but shipfoxes of the navy are chosen by captains who see in them potential as part of their crew-"

"Shipfoxes are chosen, I see," gleed Judy, hurriedly jotting that down.

"Or as an alternative to more severe punishment, if they are young enough."

Violet eyes shot up from notetaking, "Shipfoxes start out as kits?" she gasped, and then thought, Fascinating! Slightly conflicting, circumstances considered, but nothing I can't work with.

He sighed and scowled at no one in particular, "Perhaps it makes them better sailors if they start out on a ship. For that very reason, you'll not find a kit straying too far from home until they choose their secret name. It protects them from bunny law, you see," Nic explained with a wag of his finger.

"Yes, Big Gid elaborated on how secret names work; it's quite interesting," she mentioned, and tapped the end of the pencil on her cheek, According to Esther, the real Piberius Savage is still alive, so at best he would be a kit by the time my great-great-aunt Laverne Hopps was in her heyday eighty years ago, give or take (I'll need to confirm with Ruth about some of the chronology on this when I get back). In any case, if he was caught reading and writing, he might've gotten the alternate punishment of being a shipfox instead of losing parts of his anatomy (which he then might've lost later on in life), and maybe at that point either rose up through the ranks to become captain or admiral (maybe there was some kind of law reform for allowing foxes to do that) or he took over the ship as a pirate. I should ask Nick once I'm topside for some insight into the fox community, since he made up with his parents.

"Did he?" replied Nic, and a smirk crossed his lips, "The fellow forgot to mention that mates typically know one another's secret name, as part of their lifelong bond."

It was Judy's turn to stare blankly in a pause as the meaning of that statement settled on her shoulders like the dust of the air. "Well… that is to say, we…" she flustered despite herself, ears pinned back in hopes of hiding their warmth and continued reddening, "It's not like we're mated, because I didn't, I mean, Big Gid and Sissy also know my 'secret name', and you didn't tell me your name, I kind of guessed it, I guess," and violently cleared her throat, "Sure is dusty in here?"

"Perhaps a change of subject?"

"Excellent idea!" Judy nigh yelled, and flipped to a new page of her notebook, held up in attempts to hide behind it. "So, what about-?"

"C'mon, Carrots."

"Carrots?" she repeated, looking up from her notes at a patiently lounging Nicolaus Wilde thumbing through a book.

"What of carrots?" Nic asked idly, glancing up at her. The morning light baking the roof cooled and dimmed to a late afternoon haze, "Shave and smoke me, is that the time?" he started, and snapped a book shut to lazily toss it nearby, "Not a moment more to waste, cousin, punctuality is a form of honesty, after all," and grinned.

What? Judy reeled, and looked down to find a book open on the table, lifting a page with gruesome depiction of whom she instantly reasoned was Bag-o'-Bones, complete with his tattered cloak, skeletal face, and wielding a meathook and bonesaw. She slammed it shut without a second thought and hurried to follow a leaving Nic while stuffing the notebook back into her coat pocket. It was morning only a few minutes ago? she wondered, That must mean… I'm running out of time! And that sounded like Nick calling me "Carrots", or was it Dawson?

"What happened, it felt like an entire day went by in an instant?" she asked of Nic.

"Perhaps for one of us," he sighed, but smiled over his shoulder, "It's a shame you're only in the Burrow for short a time, Just Jude, I'd very much like to hear more of your story."

The real shame is I might not be in for the whole day because the safeguards must really be straining, but I haven't heard any more of that buckling. Maybe the lost time was a result of that? "Honestly, Nick, there isn't a lot more to tell," she tried with a covering chuckle, stepping out into the orange-gold sunlight of an afternoon which snuck up on her. She set the cap further over her eyes, "Like you said, I'm 'Just Jude'," and then added with a grin, "Here to make the world a better place."

"Most kits grow out of that glittering optimism," he teased, and walked around the high ledge to hop down the pile of crates, but towards a different part of the alleyway.

"Most kits stop playing in the dirt," she answered, following him step-for-step.

"A knock at my profession? Hardly 'just' of you. I expected more from our savior."

"Your 'profession' is a composer, Nick," she corrected with a grin, "Grounds keeping is more of a hobby or a day job to keep up a living."

"Surely you mean to 'keep living', cousin," he counter-corrected, but without a grin, "Do you think the Blessed Court would suffer a fox to live if they found out he wrote the songs they so dearly cherish? If it ever got out that those forty-eight pieces are mine, I assure you a mangy rabbit would know a better life than I. However," he sighed, and returned to his default grinning, "As far in as I am now, it would do me no benefit to pull out, would it? As they say, 'can't help a fox'; we'll be who we are and do what we do, regardless of the consequences."

'Just like a fox', she sighed, but in good humor, It's like everything is to their benefit, even when it's not. "Will you be joining Big Gid and me at the dock, Nick?" she asked as they slipped through a nearly unperceivable gap in a fence.

"Hmm? Oh no, not I," he answered, "I shall get you there in a timely fashion and be on my way. I've not had a day off in too long, and so far it's spent in a dusty attic with a bookworm."

"I'm not sorry for that, by the way."

"Nor should you be," smirked Nic, "If I wanted to leave, I certainly would have."

"Why didn't you?"

"I wanted to find out more about you, and I feel as though I found out plenty," and then stopped at the corner of a warehouse, holding out a paw in grandiose presentation, "There she is, the H.M.S. Felicitas, one of the fastest ships in the royal fleet and somehow utilized for Sir Grav's own benefit."

"Sir Grav? This is his shipment?"

"Overheard it from his own lips," he assured, "And by that grimace, Just Jude, you have a healthy concern of what's coming in."

"The guy brought foxes as a 'gift'," she revulsed, "My only hope is that whatever he's bringing in this time is neither now nor ever was breathing."

"Well, do inform me when you find out," grinned Nic with a turn of his heel, "There's a tavern nearby wherein I shall wait; I'm not hard to find if you know where to look."

She scoffed and called after him, "Can't help a fox!" and then snickered to herself as he nonchalantly saluted over a shoulder, as was his way. I guess it's okay if one fox says it to another, since he said it to me, Judy pondered, after all, bunnies call each other "cute" all the time.

From the warehouse, it was a clear shot to the dock and some foxes already gathering around a rabbit standing on top of a raised platform, no doubt handing out assignments, and as a tree in a field there was Big Gid's hulking, slouching physique. Remembering how a plainclothes police officer should act, Judy slowed her step the closer she got to the group, earning little in the way of attention from any of the rabbit guards (after all, what's one more fox amongst a dozen?). So long as she kept to the fox laborers and not the rabbits or hares, her presence was largely unnoticed. The foremammal was a tall, sturdy individual, looking as though he were cut from stone and all the humor that came with it, even the assignments he read off reminisced of a particular Cape Buffalo.

Looks like Bogo's okay after all, Judy mused, He's a lop-eared rabbit now but I'm glad to see he's doing well. With a subtle spring in her step, she edged over to where Big Gid stood listening and tugged at his elbow, earning such a pleased smiled she worried he might break character.

"Hey Jude!" he finally said when everyone was dismissed (and indeed, she spotted the foxes from whom she purchased the morning's kebabs), and leaned in to address her, "Sure's glad ya' came, was almost worried ya' wouldn't, but here ya' are. C'mon, lots to get done before sundown."

She promptly followed, looking about at the scattering hands, "Goodness, this is a lot of dockworkers for one shipment," she observed, "I know it's a navy ship but Sir Grav must've filled it from stem to stern to need so much help unloading it."

Big Gid chuckled and shook his head, "It's a wonder Nic keeps his secrets as he does with those loose lips." He earned a laugh as they walked their way up the ramp to the gentle creak of swaying shrouds and the bobbing ship, mingling in the air with omnipresent brine and characterizing wet wood. "Sir Grav went around the world, ya'know, brought gifts from wherever he's been and this one is said to be his biggest."

"Well, so long as it's not more gift-foxes," she said under her breath, keeping the cap low on her face. Mixed with the freeing scents of unbridled ocean and a sailing ship was the stifling hint of smoke. Judy's nostrils flared as she sniffed, biting back a cough as her eyes scanned for the source, and then her ears swiveled to strain as a rabbit's might when the fur along her spine bristled.

There he was. The voice which chilled her as a child but held strong against as an adult. The voice which felt like needles hooked into the back of her mind. The voice from which she felt no fear, sadness, joy, or understanding, only a black nothing that was blacker than black; a vantablack, from which no light escapes, a true abyss that sends the brain reeling with its absence of color. Sir Grav stood with his back turned to her, talking to whom she recognized as the captain of the ship (his uniform helped in that regard), but it felt as though he could see her, that those dark, hateful eyes stared through the back of his skull with a wicked leer. Between his fingers was a single, tight roll of paper with a ribbon of smoke flowing from its glowing tip. That's what burned her throat and eyes, and she felt in the pit of her stomach that he would smoke nothing less than the finest fox fur.


	7. Chapter 7

Judy turned as quickly as she could, moving behind Big Gid so that she could not see him, but hoping more than anything that he could not she her. Were it Sir Grav's real self she had courage aplenty to stand against him, stare him down until _he_ blinked; but here, in her mind, where the maddening absence of soul in his voice shook her to the core… it would be too great a test of the already precarious safeguards keeping her sane. _No_ , she decided, _This is no time to play hero. Sissy will find me at sundown, I will get Briar's name, and then… go to sleep, I guess. Or spend some time with my friends here, maybe that can strengthen the safeguards enough to get me back._ A heavy paw patted her back, yet it felt lighter than a feather.

"I know," whispered Big Gid, "I hate the smell, too, but it's only for a little bit." Judy nodded in agreement, watching as the ropes and pulleys lifted from the hold the first of many crate- and barrel-laden pallets. As the sun slowly sank to the horizon, the pallets continued to rise up, taken by foxes and rabbits working in shifts, and Big Gid as perhaps the greatest asset; he would squat and hold out his arms, patient as others stacked boxes and barrels into his grasp, and then guided him down the ramp to unload him again (Judy assured to stay as close to him as possible). All the while, Judy felt Sir Grav's intense gaze upon her, and it kept her vigilant to act as much to her withdrawn, shy persona as she could.

The final pallet boasted a single, large, metal crate bound in a thick tarp secured to prevent any wandering eyes (and the sea breeze played a foul trick on Judy's mind to think she heard breathing within). It was clear that this one would require more than simply Big Gid to carry, though he was definitely part of the team which lifted it, while Judy was on the team to guide it down the ramp and onto the port. At the waiting was a motorized vehicle, one Judy saw was something _she_ knew as a truck (and heard Sir Grav's boasts about the power of the latest engine, that he was inspired by a local merchant to get one of his own). This was, in turn, loaded up as twilight grew darker, but not by she and Big Gid; Sir Grav called them aside.

"I could not help but notice," he said with a brilliantly false smile, "how well you two work together. Your coordination is nothing short of entertaining. Quite the feat, as it is something I've only seen in mated foxes. Are you, perhaps, brothers?" Sir Grav tucked under an arm his cane, a posh piece of equipment with a handle plated in golden leaves and branches, so that he might reach into his vibrantly red overcoat to pull out the metal case Judy recalled from the night of Lovey's performance. Both foxes remained silent as he flicked open the case to pull out another red, black-tipped cigarette to hold between his lips, snapping the case shut to stow it once more.

"No, Sir, we's cousins," Big Gid answered when Sir Grav address themed, both keeping their heads and eyes down.

"Ah yes, of course," Sir Grav said softly, patronizingly, and reached into a different pocket, one on the outside and nearer the hip of his coat, to pull out a single match. "It takes a great deal of _trust_ to do what you can without so much correspondence," he said, and held out the match towards Judy. She glanced up from beneath the bill of her cap at Sir Grav's expectant paw, and chanced a glimpse to Big Gid, but he provided no answer other than that he looked as confused and wary as she did.

So, Judy stepped forward, silently accepting the ignitable length of wood as Sir Grav leaned in the slightest bit, holding the cigarette in his mouth. She only lifted her head enough to see below his nose, and then sparked the match with her claw (something she'd seen her older relatives do plenty of times), cradling the flame in the hollow of her palm against the seaside wind. The warmth felt nice, and the light on her face relaxed her a little bit as she lit the cigarette, watching as the paper smoldered and the smoke stung.

The odor was putrid, however, despicable, like enmity incarnate and it made tears well; not from pain or sadness, though, rather the injustice that something like that could _exist_ , much less in her own mind. Judy's face set as she stared at the fox-fur cigarette, knowing that it was not a last resort for the destitute as Lovey believed but a punishment to "claim a debt", and it set her blood to roil and churn in ways she had not felt in a long, long time. It took every ounce of willpower not to strike it from Sir Grav's mouth, knowing that it would be the last thing she ever did in that dreamworld, and with her goal so close it would be folly to pick a fight now. _I need to make_ this _world a better place before I can even start with the real one, and that's the first thing I'll do once I'm out of here,_ she determined, _What "savior" could I be if I let such evil reside in my own heart?_

"Where have I seen those eyes before?" cooed Sir Grav. The bill of Judy's cap raised enough that their eyes indeed locked, and with the match illuminating her face she did not even have the waning sun's shadow to hide in. She tried to look away, but it seemed every steel virtue upholding her heart and spirit objected to an iota ceded to him. "Such beautiful, righteous eyes. I _know_ they ring a bell…" he said, holding the cigarette from his lips. Judy ducked away, flicking her wrist to snuff the match and walk back towards Big Gid. "Hold," Sir Grav commanded, and tapped his cane once into the dock, "Do not turn away from your punishment, Mr. Fox, or it _will_ worsen."

 _Punishment…?_ Judy doubted, but cringed as sense refilled her, _I stared at him too long. A stupid,_ stupid _rule, but I need to pick my battles, especially when I'm so close to getting what I need._ So, obediently, she faced the consequences of her actions, watching from beneath the bill of her cap at his body language.

"Good lad," he said, releasing a puff of smoke to waft into her face, "A fair piece of advice, Mr. Fox: know what you are." Quick as a whip, his wrist flicked the ebony shaft of his cane to strike at Judy's arm, a strike that would surely sting but leave no lasting, visible mark. Except he missed, or rather, she _dodged_.

Judy's police training and sense of justice no longer allowed this degradation, and though she could not fix a broken world from where she stood, she could at least defy one act of cruelty. The cane whiffed with precision, snapping in such a way that if Judy leaned to the side it would never hit her; and so she did. Her keen, violet eyes watched his movements with honed understanding. Yes, Sir Grav could boast some degree of martial prowess, but she was better, faster, slyer. In a swift, violent motion Sir Grav stepped forward in a fencer's attack at the side of her head, but Judy responded in kind with a momentary step back to dodge a second time. A third strike he readied by tossing the cane in the air to catch the other end and then swinging in a wide, punishing arch, but her forearm sprang up to deftly block it, catching the shaft beneath the golden-headed cane to use the muscle and fur of her arm as a cushion of the blow.

Once more, their eyes locked in the waning light, and hers seemed to shine with rebellious purity against his dark, unamused animosity. Sir Grav lowered his cane, though, holding at its middle and watching her return to Big Gid. He pulled out a second case, more of a box, which he put out his cigarette in and then stored the remaining stub, before approaching the large fox.

 _That was really stupid of me_ , Judy worried, feeling the momentary rush of battle drain to leave behind momentary regret, knowing that she just stood up to a knight of the Blessed Court. If she were staying in the Burrow beyond that evening it would spell serious trouble for her, and surely anyone close to her. _I've already pushed my luck to its limits, it's really a wonder things aren't worse than they are. No more heroics, no more derring do. Get Mister Briar's name and get out,_ she decided for the nth time, and then glanced up at the grocer, _He can handle just about anything, so I shouldn't worry too much. Even if Grav hits him, he likely wouldn't feel it._

"You are… 'Big Gid', if I recall correctly," he stated, holding his cane behind his back and leaning closer to look up into the shaggy face.

The bright blue eyes darted away from Sir Grav's, even averting his face before he answered, "Y-yessir."

Standing upright once more, Sir Grav slid the cane so his grasp was nearer the end and wheeled it about to point at Judy, "And what is your cousin's name?" She saw it all, and it all happened in an instant. Big Gid's head pivoted towards the gray vixen as Sir Grav's arm and body pulled back to ready a swing, but his movements were fast and the golden head swung up into Big Gid's blindspot, connecting with his jaw in a sickening crack that sent the giant stumbling. Sir Grav continued, grabbing the cane with both fists at the end of his swing to wheel it around, over his own head, and striking at Big Gid's sternum to knock him onto the pier.

Were it Judy, she could have evaded each attack without so much as a graceless step, but as it was she could only watch in mounting horror as the swift-footed Sir Grav advanced, cane held like an axe swung high to bring it low, connecting with Big Gid's face again.

 **Thwack!**

 _It's just a dream…_ Judy pleaded.

 **Thwack!**

 _It's not real!_ she cringed.

 **Thwack!**

 _I can't…!_

 **Thwap!**

It _was_ only a dream. And Big Gid _wasn't_ real. Judy knew this. She knew each time she defied the order of the Burrow, no matter how unjust it was, it sank her a little deeper into her own mind and chipped away at her chances of getting back to her _real_ friends, in the _real_ world. But she could not be true to herself if she stood by and watched such malice, even if it _wasn't_ real. Every make believe muscle moved of their own accord, and she flung herself upon Big Gid to take the final blow on her back. Luckily, the head of the cane missed her neck so the shaft bounced off, surely to leave a wicked bruise, and she collapsed from the force while holding onto the shaggy head in sobbing, trembling desperation. But it seemed to stop the onslaught, and crying still she tucked her face into Big Gid's cheek, feeling the weak breath against her ear while carefully hugging him as close as she dared.

Sir Grav panted, and by the shuffling of his jacket it sounded like he was correcting any dishevelment from the physical exertion, and maybe he even pulled out a handkerchief to wipe clean of stray crimson drops. "You should keep a better eye on your cousin, Mr. Fox, clumsy oaf that he is," Sir Grav said, and tossed the bloodied handkerchief onto the back of Judy's head, "But then, _he_ can hardly be blamed, can he." Sir Grav walked away, and then drove away, leaving her with the sounds of the waves against the pier and ship.

A pair of paws grabbed her from behind, so she held tighter onto the large head, "Judith…" came a soft, sororal voice.

"Sissy?" she whimpered, and looked up to find another set of bright, blue eyes looking back, and it was, it was Sissy, but wearing a weathered knit cap and a heavy, baggy coat.

"You need to let go, love, or else we can't get him into the cart."

Behind her was Big Gid's cart, and easily a dozen different foxes and rabbits standing at the ready with poles and a giant tarp for a makeshift stretcher. Judy thought she saw the cart at the dock earlier, but before she could consider it further she was carried off in a daze by the scarlet vixen as the quick crew, of both long ears and short, fastened together a means to hoist the massive fox up into his own vehicle (long since emptied of the crates). Judy watched with dawning understanding in the low sunset light about what was happening with deep, choking breaths as she attempted to wipe tears onto her sleeves.

"Hup!" said two strong laborers, one a fox and the other a rabbit, as they hoisted Judy from the pier and into the cart near Big Gid's head. Sissy hopped up beside Judy, but only for a moment to embrace her shoulders, "I shall go on ahead to the tavern and ready some treatment for him. It's up to _you_ to assure he gets there." And she was gone.

The handkerchief wrung in her paws as she sat beside Big Gid's weakly gasping head. Judy scooted in closer, trying to lift his head into her lap, sniffing back tears as she took care to wipe his mouth, "I'm so sorry, Gid," she whimpered, listening for any signs of response. The cart was secured to a dozen strong bodies of fellow dockworkers, and with a chorus of grunts and heaves they got the vehicle rolling down the pier, accompanied by the heavy thunk of wooden wheels on wooden planks. _This is all my fault,_ she choked, dabbing blood from his lips to clean his face, _I had to be such a hero, didn't I, staring down the villain without any concern for how it affects others. Saying whatever I had to say, doing whatever I had to do… I'm nothing more than a meddler._

And then the sun sank behind the horizon; in its finality, it burst a disgusting green light, triggering the buckling whine that rang through her ears with intensity. Judy braced against it but focused on her charge, rather than her fears. It grew from a steady note to fluctuating tones, and she bristled when words formed from the din:

"Can't help a fox."

 _Stop it_.

"Can't help… a fox."

 _I said, 'stop it'._

" …Can't help… he's a fox!"

 _You're wrong, I_ can _help him!_

"He can't help it… he's a fox!"

 _Wait… that sounds like… me?_

"He can't help it, Grav, he's a fox!"

Judy remembered when she said that, she was six-years-old, Woodlands Elementary, playtime after lunch next to the swingset (the one with the new rubber seats that made funny fart noises if you bounced on them the right way). Grav, also six, was teasing Gideon Grey again, a fox twice his size and three years older; could have picked him up and tossed him onto the roof if he wanted to, but he never did. Never fought back, never yelled, only walked away.

Maybe that was why Judy wanted to help him. To stand up for him because maybe he could help her make the world a better place. Maybe all he needed was someone to be his friend. Judy could be his friend, she was good at that, ask anyone. Everyone liked Judy - especially Grav. So, Judy stood up for Gideon Grey, lots of times, but this time she put herself between the two boys and gave her best defense of Gideon Grey: "He can't help it, Grav, he's a fox!" The adults used it all the time, never when a fox was around but that's okay, Gideon Grey already knows he's a fox.

Well, it certainly worked! Grav backed off and promised not to pick on him, or _anyone_ else, _anymore_. Judy would call that a victory! Gideon Grey wasn't too happy about it, though? He was angry and stormed off, saying, "Yeah, I'm a fox, alright!" He got real mean after that, too, started picking on others with his ferret friend, Travis Blackfoot. Whenever Judy tried to stop him, he got angry again and gave her a scowl that no one else got.

Nick had that same scowl after the press conference at the start of the pred-scare… the same look of disappointment and betrayal that confused Judy. It confused her as a child, and confused her as an adult. Until she understood what it meant. What it said. What trust meant to a fox.

"Fox." As though everything wrong with a mammal could be summed up in one word, one syllable.

Judy wept over Big Gid's face, shoulders quaking as her throat burned in choking sobs, _Why…?_ she challenged, _Haven't I apologized enough? Must I still wallow in my regrets and failures? Can I not save myself?_

"Oh, are those tears for _me_?" came a soft groan, startling her as she looked down to a pair of eyes, one bloodshot and sporting a fat shiner, the other brilliantly blue.

Her arms wrapped around his head like the chin strap on a helmet, "Gid!" she cried, muffling his whimpers before releasing his face, "Oh my gosh, you're okay, you're _okay_!"

"Takes more than a li'l bunny with a stick to get Big Gid down," he chuckled, licking at his swollen lip, "I can't tell ya' how many times my cart ran me over, and I still had to chase after it. Naw, he got a lucky hit on me, and tha's that."

"You could've said so sooner!" she exclaimed, somewhere between laughter, sobbing, and indignation, "I thought he gave you a concussion, or something."

"I'm bein' carted off to a tavern with my head in the lap of the Burrow's cutest vixen," he grinned, "Lemme enjoy this."

"I should smack you," she warned in a smirk, raising a fist over his nose to which he held up both palms in feigned submission. She wiped away tears of joy and grief as his paws lay at his sides, "I'm so sorry, Big Gid, I know he hit you because of me."

"Yeah, and he gonna get in trouble for it," smirked the large fox.

"What? How do you mean?"

"It's because I didn't take your hits for you and he wallops on me anyway, which ain't square," he began, continuing when her confusion persisted, "When a fox gets caught slyin' a bunny, the bunny gets to hit 'em, fair's fair, but can't hit 'em hard unless the fox runs or if another takes the hit instead. I was gonna take your hard hit for ya' if you kept not gettin' hit like you was, but then you took his full swing!" He then grinned smugly, "The whole dock must've seen it, and Sir Grav's been tricky for a bunny, so this is a long time comin'."

"It was a basic defense, and I saw his attack from a mile away," she playfully dismissed, but beamed all the same, "Still, those rules are kind of… depressing…"

"Oh, don't be depressed, Jude, you're pretty when you smile."

"Thanks, Big Gid," she swooned, and gave him a smile while caressing his cheek until his eyes closed, and then her thoughts buzzed like a hornets' nest. _Depression…_ she considered, eyes brightening as the streetlights flickered on, one-by-one by the trusty lamplighters, _I… I'm depressed. I haven't cried_ this _much since my pet bird died as a kid, and then when I saw Nick again under the bridge, and it seems like everything I do hits me with a sackful of guilt. The longer I've stayed down here, the heavier everything's felt, the harder it is to_ do _anything. It was like this back at the start of the pred-scare, after I left the city and withdrew into myself for weeks. Am I…_ clinically _depressed right now?_

The thought was ironically uplifting, and for the first time since she fell into the Burrow, she saw the moon. It was a frail sliver of silver hanging high in the sky, but it seemed to grow brighter as her mind kept running, _The Night Howler drug causes_ depression _, but why?_ she wondered, _What possible use would anyone have for a drug that_ causes _depression? There are so many drugs to stop it, but why… what if Robert Briar was clinically depressed?_ Judy gasped, _With his fur color and age group that could narrow him down substantially, so much so I wouldn't even_ need _his nickname. If he was depressed, he might've even…_ she halted, and didn't continue that thought, _This is enough to build a profile, and with Nick's help I can find him. Thanks, Sissy, you gave me what I needed to figure it out for myself, just like you always do,_ she grinned with growing determination.

Judy looked down at the reposed giant resting his head in her lap, and discretely pulled out the notebook. "Give my love to Sissy and Nick _,_ " Judy whispered, and leaned in to kiss his nose before opening up a blank page to stare at it, fingering the charcoal pencil. _Okay, time for a crazy idea,_ and with it held close against her chest so no one else could see, she wrote, "Dawson:  EVAC!", closed the notebook to tuck inside her coat pocket, crossed her arms, and held her eyes shut as tight as she could. Judy thought of being a rabbit, of long ears and buck teeth, of a shorter tail and nose. She thought of the farm, of her parents, of her friends, waiting for her to return. _Hopps out._

* * *

It was still dark. The air was cool and the aroma of plants welcomed her, but not with the harsh sensitivity of a fox's sense of smell; no, hers was a bunny's nose, wiggling once more. Her long ears rose up to swivel at the sound of wheels, and paired with the slow forward momentum, she was clearly seated in a wheelchair. Like before, her arms were weak and legs refused to move, even movement of the neck and head proved difficult, but she could still move her paws, fingers, and toes. Tired, violet eyes opened and weak, smacking lips wavered with each harried (but increasing) breath.

"Take care, Miss Hopps, you are still in recovery," instructed a gentle, masculine voice from behind, likely enough whoever was pushing the wheelchair. He sounded familiar, but as of yet, unplaced.

She tried to speak, but her throat hurt so badly and her chest under such pressure, that breathing was all she managed to do. Still, her head rose and eyelids lightened, looking about to find the most beautiful garden a bunny could have the fortune to witness. Tall, ornate lamps lined the smooth-stoned path to a grand archway. She was garbed in what must be her finest gown, clutching in one paw a fancy notebook and pencil. It was like lightning shot through her as she looked about, attempting to panic but her body was far too weak.

"Miss Hopps!" said the voice again, and the wheelchair stopped when a tall, naval uniformed rabbit with golden fur and eyes the brown of rain-soaked soil came around to kneel beside her, "Please be calm, my lady, or else you could fall to brain fever again; and then Sir Grav would surely have my foot," he explained, daring a smirk at the end of his sentence.

 _I'm Lovey…_ Judy realized, paw weakly gripping around the notebook in her lap, _Which means it's too late._ She collapsed into the wheelchair from whatever upright position her powerless form could muster, and felt a defeat she never thought she'd ever know. _As a fox, I was safe from the effects of a drug designed for a bunny, at least for a little while, but now… I am surely succumbed to it._ What little strength remained in her propped an elbow on arm of the wheelchair to cover her eyes in a palm.

"Shall we return to the manor, my lady?" Mister Briar asked.

Judy… Lovey looked to him and managed a smile with a slow shake of her head. A word was attempted but her throat stung again.

He smiled patiently, sadly, "The healers proclaim it a miracle that you are out of bed only a week after being afflicted with brain fever, but… they don't know if you'll ever talk… or _sing_ again, my lady, not after that scream took your voice away."

Listening, Lovey felt reality settling upon her shoulders, so as any proper lady should, she squared them and corrected her posture. Without a voice, she pulled up the notebook and flipped through it slowly: "Night Howler causes depression", "Male rabbit, gold fur, brown eyes, mid-to-late 20's, clinical depression", "Hexward", along with everything else she learned as a fox. When a blank page was next found, she wrote, "Name?".

A kind chuckle left his lips when he gave an amused smile, "I am still Robert Briar, honorably tasked as your escort until you are fully recovered."

"Nick Name?" Lovey added to the note.

Surprised, his eyes darted up from the paper to her own set gaze, and what it asked was so sincere that Mister Briar hardly seemed able to deny such a request, "When those close to me are especially unpeeved, I am known as 'Bertie', my lady."

"Lovey," she wrote on the next page, paused, and then added: "I insist".

Bertie held his breath, knowing that such intimacy with a lady above his station was… _unbecoming_ , but to deny her request would surely be worse, so he nodded with a gentle smile, "As you wish, Lovey."

"Grav?" Lovey jotted down on the next page, but added a "Sir" before showing it.

"He is preparing the Blessed Queen's gift, and will join us after presenting it," Bertie explained in a low, dreading tone, but was unable to stop himself from continuing, "Ever since _it_ came in, his fortune turned dark. Never have I seen him so upset, Lovey, and I fear the worse for… whatever this 'gift' is."

"Why?" Lovey hurriedly wrote with eager curiosity.

Bertie glanced around with a sweep of his ears, and then leaned in as close as he dared to whisper, "Word spread as the wind ever since he struck a fox without right to do so. Some say he is cursed, and cannot go the hour without some bad luck finding him, one way or another. Sir Grav intends to find favor with Her Majesty, the Blessed Queen with a gift of _great_ fortune."

"What gift?" Lovey wrote, but Bertie shook his head.

"I only heard mutterings when he teetered on madness, until I gleaned some information about it last night," he explained. At her gesturing to continue Bertie set his face resolutely, "I am sorry, my lady, but to relay what I heard would only send you back to the sickbed-" but halted when she grabbed his arm with a strength he did not think was still in her. Yes, he was steeled in his conviction, but even without a voice _her_ conviction rang truer still. Bertie sighed, and leaned in further, "I only heard Sir Grav say 'His shaggy head will make a grand gift'," and continued at her distraught reaction, "We can still return to the manor, Miss Hopps."

"Lovey, I insist," she showed again and placed a paw on his knuckles, to which Bertie nodded. She sat upright and looked down the garden path to the palace and its majestic architecture; running was not an option. _If this is going to be my personal purgatory,_ Judy determined, _then I'm nipping this in the bud. I will neither abide nor fear evil in my own heart; perhaps a day late and a dollar short to return topside, but here, I might as well be queen._ Bertie guided her into the warmth and light of the regal outdoor sconces, the door held open by an armored guard in shining steel armor and brilliant crimson tabards with white trim, the crest of which she recognized: _Knotash… does that mean the "Blessed Court" really_ is _the House of Blessings? The ship's sails were up so I didn't see the crest there, but here… they're everywhere. I guess that's a good sign, Knotash has always been a refuge for the less fortunate._

There was not a single fox to meet them on their way inside from the garden, only the long ears of the palace servants and guards, either scurrying as leaves on the wind or standing still as stones, respectively. Lovey could hear a faint ado coming from behind a set of heavy oaken doors, bursting with the commotion of a royal court. Within a brilliantly lit hall with high, vaulted ceilings, draped in beautiful banners and ornate decor, must have been several hundred bunnies seated at tables around a wide, carpeted walkway that lead to, what Lovey could immediately see, was a tall, deified throne, and atop which sat only the Blessed Queen herself. She was a dainty bunny with soft, pure white fur (that which could be seen), and garbed in violet, silver, and red finery; her diadem, a beautiful piece of silver craft inlaid with amethysts and rubies, covered her face with a gossamer veil.

Bertie wheeled her past the gentry, and the knights, and the dukes and earls and lords, up until he, himself, could go no further. "I shall be nearby, Lovey," he whispered, and handed her off to an albino rabbit with pale white fur and bright pink eyes, the herald of the Blessed Queen. He said nothing, but looked very anxious, though he tried to smile, and was checking a bright gold pocket watch on their approach. In the back of her mind, Lovey remembered seeing him in the audience of her last performance; perhaps it was he who told the Blessed Queen about her. "Pardon our tardiness, Mister McTwisp, but the fresh air did Miss Hopps a world of good," Bertie explained, and departed as the herald wheeled Lovey further in. Further in, further in, until her chair stopped to the left of Her Majesty's throne. Lovey could hardly know what to feel, sitting mere feet away from the Blessed Queen, and wondered if it was because it might help her heal, being so close to the most powerful source of magic in the Burrow.

"Presenting," called Mister McTwisp when he returned to his own position, "Sir Grav of the Blessed Court, with a gift for Her Majesty the Blessed Queen to bring her and her reign great fortune." At the far end, the double doors, immense and intimidating, ornate and magnificent, opened with a quiet groan from the wood and iron. In walked Sir Grav in his finest coat of white and dark blue, marching with purpose as his wretched cane kept pace. Behind him was a truly enormous metal crate.

 _That was from the ship_ , Judy recognized, _But it was re-wrapped since I saw it… I guess it was less than an hour ago, but a week by this place's time. It's way too big for Gid, in any case, so maybe it really is a giant good luck charm._ She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but kept her eyes on the approaching Sir Grav with his crew of rabbits pulling the crate along.

"Your Majesty," he said in absolute deference and admiration, falling to a knee before the throne, cane and hat on the ground beside him, "By blessing of the court, I bring before you, Your Highness, an item of such profound, voluminous luck that it shall keep the kingdom safe for _centuries_ …" He looked up, and glanced to Lovey with those dark, malevolent eyes, but only for instant before they darted to the Blessed Queen. A gesture of permission was all her response, and all the reason Sir Grav needed to jump to his feet and pivot to face his crew. The bindings and tarp pulled away, revealing a cage to the astonishment, wonder, shock and awe of the court.

 _A lion…?_ Judy gawked. A great, tawny fellow, crouched inside the cage with a muzzle locked around his shaggy, maned head, thick steel shackles anchoring him to the mobile platform. He looked starved, beaten, disrobed and barely moving, barely flinching when he was revealed. _But… why? Who? Could he be Lionheart? He'd be the most prominent lion I can think of, or Nurse Wild, whom I saw only today in the real world. Then again, he could be Officer Delgato, since we're on the precinct bowling team, or Officer Johnson, because I babysat his kids once or twice. He could even be that nice newspaper vendor down the street from my apartment; but_ why _? Is it because Gideon imagined a lion as a child, so now_ I' _m imagining one?_ Countless thoughts of symbolism involving lions raced through her head in an instant, from courage to pride, nobility to ferocity, strength to laziness.

"…I need only to remove it from the beast's body," Sir Grav explained to knowing, sparse amusement of the court. The tarp which covered the cage was spread across the carpeted walk further along, and so wheeled over.

… _What?_ Judy disbelieved.

"But first," he went on, talking as the crew of rabbits worked with systematic fluidity to remove the wheels and walls of the cage to set it upon the tarp, "I shall cleanse its curse; by the blessing of the court." Once more, Her Majesty gestured approval. In were brought thin glass walls and erected, braced on either side of the tarp so to protect the eager, onlooking rabbits of the court. Before he shrugged off his coat, he pulled a box from its pocket, loosed the decorative string, and lifted its lid. Inside was a single midnight-blue blossom of Night Howler. One of the crew received the flower and replaced it on the end of a long-shafted device; this device, as it was soon clear, was used to force the flower through the muzzle and inside the lion's mouth. Heavy ropes kept the maned head down so to remove the bindings of its jaws before the flower could take hold, and when it did his shoulders hunched, body flailed against the chains as savage power filled his weakened, growling form. "Behold, O Blessed Court, the true form that we fear," Sir Grav said in cold admiration, unmoved as the lion bellowed a carnal roar to send excited terror through the crowd, "And I, your humble knight, shall slay it." Applause thundered.

Judy watched in renewed horror, and felt she could scream. She wanted to scream in indignation, more than anything, but the pain in her throat was like hot barbs piercing her flesh. Fists gripped the arms of the wheelchair as her muscles strained to move, yet could not find the strength to even reach out, wave to get someone's attention or bang on the table. As if fear made her powerless, even though she long since found that fear could hone her senses and push her limits so long as it did not control her; now, however, it crippled her. Fear that she was too weak. Fear that she would only worsen things - and a primal fear of the savage predator. Fears she thought conquered, now welled inside her chest and burned her throat.

Sir Grav had a spear, which he used on the lion. The lion had fangs and claws, which he tried to use on Sir Grav. Judy could not bear to watch it, but to turn away would mean she let it happen. She looked up at the Queen, pleading in hoarse gasps until it might rend her throat to speak only once, "No more…" she tried. To this, the royal ear shifted and the veiled face turned in address to Lovey. With a single gesture, the court quieted and Sir Grav ceased, though the lion still bellowed and raved; with a second gesture, Sir Grav was instructed to end the event, and did so with a final spear thrust.

 _No…_ Judy revulsed, for worse of all was the court's deafening applause. She wanted to scream. To scream until every gasp in her lungs ran dry, regardless of the pain. However, the Silver Belle does _not_ scream. Likewise, the Steel Horn does _not_ scream. "Monsters…" she rasped, fighting through the searing agony, gulping down the fire in her chest, and then "Monsters!" she rang, a voice which filled a concert hall now burst the courtroom as she scoured her body for the strength to rise up, "Fiends! Demons guised in mortal flesh! How can you do this to your fellow mammal, to revel in their torment and despair? You evil, bloodthirsty monsters!"

The court stared with empty eyes and empty faces, color draining along with the banners and tablecloths, carpets and drapes, everything turned lethargic gray to crumble. All the masks faded and disappeared, all the fronts and all the falsities. There was no more imagination to hide behind, no more dreams to blind the mind, only a harsh acceptance of what it all, truly was.

"And _you_ …" Judy choked, addressing the single remaining bunny, "the 'Blessed Queen' _indeed_ , doling out edicts and sentences regardless of who they hurt." She looked about at the void, decaying courtroom, once filled with smiling façades now only ghosts and tragic recollections, "This isn't a 'memory palace' or a lucid dream, and there were never any 'safeguards'. It's where I withdrew in my depression, blaming myself for the pred-scare, wallowing in my first transgression and up to my last. I hurt so _many_ innocent predators, all because I thought I knew better." She looked up to the throne again, and it was taller than before. All the things she called herself, this "Blessed Queen" amongst every other accusation echoing in the empty hall, and each built that throne higher, gaudier, adorned with depictions of rabbits and other prey species holding the seat at the very top… while on the backs of foxes and other predator species. Her Majesty was so high she seemed miles away, and yet still so close that Judy could feel her breath through the veil she wore.

But… there was one thing Judy never dared to say, to utter or even consider, and perhaps it was withholding this one thing back which made it all the worse to begin with. Here, at the end of it all, at the very bottom of her heart, she resolved to do one thing, to say that one thing she needed all her courage to say: "I forgive you". With that, a hairline crack shot up the throne like a bolt of lightning, and widened when joined by a storm of rupturing crevices, sending immense wedges of the pale stone to fall, to collapse and turn to ash before it hit the ground. And as goes the throne, so goes the kingdom…

The courtroom quaked and windows shattered, masonry fell to break through the floor and foundation with a thunderous din. When the ceiling eroded and fell, the sky above was not a starry night but a deathly pallor extending to the horizon, where it met with a vile black edge. As the cloud of dust and ash settled, Judy swept over a razed landscape, the purple of her eyes now a sickly pale gray to match the state of her fur. She looked down to find the tarnished diadem, jewels gone and veil torn, and had only the single comforting thought that she held no more regrets, save one.

The heap of ash atop which she stood shifted like sand over a sinkhole, churning violently into a whirlpool that soon revealed a yawning abyss. Judy watched as the kingdom of dust drained away into the ever-widening aperture, a roaring gale whipped about her but she only stared as it all fell away until nothing remained. Nothing… except the lion's shifting form. One arm, and then the other, pushed against an unseen ground to lift up, to stand, to stare back.

Judy filled with a primal fear as the lion advanced and grew, larger and larger, to a size that a mammal had no right to be. He towered, colossal, standing in the abyss yet his head reached into the sky. She gazed up at her final transgression, whom she brought into being only to witness his painful death, and whom approached to reciprocate. Though she had only a shred of courage to spare, Judy held it close and lifted her chin, "If this is the consequence of my cowardice," she said, "then so be it."

"Beloved," whispered the lion, in a voice softer than the echo of a butterfly's wing, yet louder than overhead thunder, he reminded her, "You _are_ brave."

From his breath came a small, powerful golden flame that spread over his lips and to his face, until it enveloped his mane in a tremendous burst of noonday sunlight, so bright yet also painless to look at. The force of those words shook the ash from her like the dirt off a carrot drawn out of the earth, but yet, it was no more powerful than a sigh as she was pulled back into a familiar embrace. The sky above was brilliant blue, checkered with full, white clouds, while the ground was covered in rolling fields of jade and emerald grass. Judy lay in comfort, and warmth, in relief, in Bo's arms.

"It's okay, Juju, I gotcha," he said. Bo said many things, but what endeared him was what he _didn't_ say, or couldn't say. The last time he pulled her back from the edge, and she was still figuring it all out, Judy asked him why he loved her; and he could only answer that he loved her ever since they first met as kids, and that he would love her until it was the last thought he could ever think. As to _why_ , however… he could never explain why, as though he could not explain why "2 + 2 = 4", only that it was a simple, irrefutable fact of life.

So there she was, with her simple, foundational rock Bo, at the end of it all. Judy wondered if he was always there, though; in Nic's empowerment and adoration of her, in Big Gid's bashfulness and strength, in Sissy's protectiveness and embrace, even in Bertie's eyes and voice. Always at the ready to catch her if she got too close to the abyss. "So," she finally muttered after an instantaneous eternity nestled in Bo's chest, "this begins my life as a vegetable. It's not so bad, really, all things considered."

"What about everything you learned?"

Judy looked down at her paws, holding her trusty notebook with the metal spiral, and the carrot pen in which she recorded important memos to herself. "I suppose Nick would need them to solve the case," she sighed, smiling to herself, "And Gideon would probably stop baking if he thought his whipped cream put me into a coma." Her thumb brushed the pen's button, "There's something recorded on this, isn't there?" Judy asked.

"Ayeup," confirmed Bo.

"Do I know what it is?"

"Double 'ayeup'," he chuckled.

It certainly felt like she did, so Judy grinned contentedly while thinking on what the lion told her, "Who was he?"

"Someone you know, but haven't met, yet."

"Hey, Bo…" she said after a pause, and looked up, "What was that thing you would say to me, to calm me down?"

"That the world is made a better place because you're in it," he answered, resting his cheek to her forehead.

"I mean… the other thing."

"Oh," Bo said, and smiled simply, " _My_ world is made a better place because you're in it."

Judy quietly moaned her affirmation, and hooded her eyes serenely, watching as the sun drifted to the horizon once more, "I should head back, shouldn't I."

"Another minute couldn't hurt," Bo said, "but they would be lost without you, wouldn't they."

"As I would be lost without them," Judy knew, and looked up at a starlit panorama as its waxing gibbous moon glowed brighter, brighter until it was full, and her eyes opened at long last.


	8. Chapter 8

"I wish she hadn't said that," worried Gideon.

"Said what, 'see you on the other side'?" asked Nick.

"Yeah; that's what someone says before they do something really dangerous, or stupid."

" _Both_ , in our case," Nick said, and tried to flash his iconic grin but he simply didn't feel up to it, not with Judy cradled in his arms showing only the barest life signs. "With the quotas for 'dangerous' and 'stupid' surpassed as they are, we should practice some caution and smarts by hightailing it out of here. Last thing we need is for some ill-timed Hoppses to spot an unconscious Judy."

The stouter fox leaned through the open rear of his van, arranging a pair of identical Tupperwares so that the whipped cream poisoned with Night Howler sat in a vat beneath Mrs. Hopps's three-bean casserole. "I think they'd be more helpful than suspicious, Stretch, besides, Judy said we should head back into the house if she doesn't come to," he reminded, peeking around the backdoor at the lit farmhouse across the yard. The three of them were _just_ in there, so would it be weird if they returned so soon?

"Yes, and I'm sure _Psychopath, Sr._ needs another reason to target us for whatever he's scheming," scoffed the taller fox, remembering still those hateful eyes and the masking leer of Magnus Hopps, farm-uncle to Judy and father to Grav, "While we might be under whatever protection Stu and Bonnie can afford us, quite frankly, I have bad experiences with loitering after kicking a hornets' nest. Regardless, per Judy's instruction you are to follow my lead, which says we don't stick around any longer than we need to."

"That Magnus fellow really has you shook, don't he?" Gideon observed, clapping the shut lid on the vat before closing and locking the van doors, "He gave me an extra large combo of the creeps and a side of fries, but what can he do with the entire house watching him?"

"I don't expect him to do _anything_ until we're well out of sight, Bangs," he explained, following Gideon around the side of the vehicle facing away from the Hoppses' farmhouse, and carefully stepped into the front seat as the door was closed behind him. "Magnus knows better than to let any 'accidents' lead back to him; as it stands, sleeping beauty here is the luckiest charm we can have in that regard." With the utmost tenderness, Nick lay her limp, trembling form across the seat with her head on his thigh, and forlornly touched her ear.

Gideon climbed in behind the wheel, "Stretch, you're worryin' me again," he warned, seeming to bite back something and recover, "I hope you ain't saying he's some kind of _mob_ boss?"

"I wouldn't be surprised, but my extensive knowledge of Zootopia's citizenry is, regrettably, limited to what I can hear on the street, and doesn't go much higher than a public-access elevator. Magnus is penthouse level info, privy to only the most trusted lowlifes and assorted thuggery. I have my own conclusions to draw as an outsider looking in, of course, but details are scarce and those in the know have very… _specific_ backgrounds."

"I'll be honest," Gideon began and revved the engine before checking his mirrors to back out of the driveway, "all I knew before this weekend was that you sold popsicles and then joined the ZPD, but I'm gathering there's a great more to it than that. You're, what… thirty-somethin'? That's a bit of past there, I don't doubt."

"So it says on the side of the box," grinned Nick, "But no, I'm proud to say that were it not for Judy's involvement, I'd be clean of organized crime for a solid decade as an honest, small time hustler."

"There are so many things wrong with that statement, but I'm gonna let it side for the sake of my sanity," muttered Gideon, and pulled onto the road heading out of the Hopps family farm.

"A thousand apologies, Your High-and-Mighty-ness, I didn't mean to offend your sensibilities," he huffed, eyebrows at a severe arch, "Youth can be such a time of idiocy for us city foxes, but I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that."

"Well, us _farm_ foxes don't have youths that extend into the early twenties, so I guess we grow up a bit faster out here," he dared a smirk.

"Says the kit that stayed at home until his _late_ twenties," Nick smirked back.

"Don't go belittlin' my traumatic childhood," Gideon stated haughtily, playfully, "I had _Psycho, Jr._ twistin' in my side, you know."

"I _should_ consider myself lucky in that regard," the taller fox pondered aloud with a dramatic rubbing of his chin, "I didn't meet _my_ archenemy until adulthood."

"Is this 'archenemy' a mob boss, and should I be concerned?" he asked, fingers air-quoting around the steering wheel.

Nick sighed, "That's a layered answer. He's still a mob boss and didn't like me for a long, _long_ time. Judy knows this; and it's actually thanks to her that he won't kill me on sight today." The taller fox continued grinning as he looked out at the dark fields passing by on their exit of the farm, and then turned to the frowning side glance of the driver, "Wanna hear-?"

"No."

"Too bad."

"You don't have a mob hit out on ya'," Gideon rattled off, "That's all _I_ need to know."

"Too. Bad," Nick teased matter-of-factly, "Judy's out cold, probably on the brink of certain death, and all we can do about it is drive in the general direction of a hospital, _hop_ ing that she makes it there without too many questions asked. Talking about me is good for my zen, and _you_ , O curious cousin of mine, opened up that can of worms and so must suffer the consequences."

"I'll be suffering alright..." he grumbled.

Nick feigned a wounded tone and with an exaggerated pout, "I thought you liked my stories."

"I'm sorry, Stretch," he sighed, "I guess with everything that's happened today, and now Judy might not wake up because of _my_ whipped cream, I might be a bit short. If you wanna talk about how you - I dunno - made goo-goo eyes at some mobster's daughter, or somethin', I guess that's okay."

After a pause, Nick smirked and said, "Actually, it involves a rug made from the fur of a skunk's butt."

The van screeched and swerved to the side of the road as Gideon barked with laughter, managing only to shift into neutral gear as he wedged his foot against the brake pedal. With his head leaned back over the seat, Gideon pounded the door's armrest as his belly bounced until it sounded like he was finally reining in his jollies. To this, Nick leaned in and swiftly whispered, "Skunk butt fur", thusly earning another round of snorts and chuckles to end with a faceful of repelling palm.

"A'ight, now I _gotta_ know what happened," snickered Gideon, wiping tears from his eyes as he drove towards the road in low gear, but lurched back with a yelp-inducing collision of undercarriage with ground. The foxes exchanged bewilderment when the rear tires spun fruitlessly for each of the two acceleration attempts. Gideon heaved a heavy sigh as he killed the engine, "You wait here, I'll go see what's wrong," he instructed before exiting, flicking a finger to turn on the hazard lights.

"Yeah, no," Nick defied, scooping up Judy with as much care as (and perhaps a smidgen more than) the situation permitted to vacate the vehicle out the driver's side door. He followed his cousin around the back, "I've seen this movie before, and that's what someone says before they get killed to death by an escaped axe murderer, or xenophobic hillbillies."

"Then _why_ are you bringin' Judy? She's safest _inside_ the van, Stretch," berated Gideon, "And who d'you think lives out here, anyway?"

"Paranoia keeps you alive, Bangs," he answered, "as such, I'm not letting Carrots here out of my sight, and believe you me she'd do the same if the roles were reversed, except _I_ 'd be in a wheelbarrow." With the aid of their night vision, it was clear that the rear tires were partially suspended in a miniature sinkhole initially weakened by the front tires; with the undercarriage resting on a rock jutting at the rim there wasn't much potential of getting out without a great deal of help. "Well, _there_ 's your problem."

"Thanks for clearing that up for me," came a huff as Gideon pulled out his phone, "In one of my cleverer moments, I signed up for Head-to-Tow roadside assistance," he explained, browsing through his apps with a sweep of a thumb and an opening chime, "since most of my business deals with deliveries, you see." He turned his phone sideways and backed up until he could get all the important information about his predicament into a single shot (to which Nick stepped out of view).

"You'll find no arguments here," assured Nick with an easy grin, following the other fox to sit in the van with the still unresponsive Judy on his knee and against his chest (resisting the urge to use her like a ventriloquist's dummy). "So what are we looked at; ten, fifteen minutes, twenty with traffic?"

"Eighty-two, by their estimate," Gideon explained, maybe a little impressed at the response time, "Looks like they're stepping up service tonight, for some reason."

"Eighty-" choked Nick, "Bangs, do you mean to tell me that we're sitting out in the middle of nowhere with the _distinct_ possibility of mortal danger for the next hour and twenty-two minutes?"

"Should we call an ambulance?"

"N-!" he stopped himself, "Ye-!" he stopped himself again, groaned, and then pinched the bridge of his nose in jaw-clenched muttering, "She _had_ to test the mysterious drug on herself in an uncontrolled environment, couldn't wait until we got to the sheriff's office, no, had a point to prove, didn't she."

A patient bemused furrowing of the brow watched as Gideon leaned on his steering wheel, cheek in palm, "Are you done belly-achin', because my 'lead' is sending a heap of mixed signals?"

Nick shot him a look (which Gideon reciprocated), and then calmed to check Judy's vitals, "Still alive. Bangs? Word of advice: avoid situations with complicated explanations," he slumped in the seat and hugged Judy a bit closer, "I guess it was too much to expect her recovery before anyone else saw her like this. How long would it take to get the paramedics out here?"

"Stu says there's a bunny-sized ambulance on standby at the hospital that can make it in… half-an-hour, I think?" Gideon recalled, and in answer to Nick's quirked eyebrow, "Big families with lots of kids mean lots of potential for accidents, I guess."

"Ah," relaxed the taller fox, and looked out to the long stretch of dark road, when his ears sprung up and eyes shot open, "I see headlights." With a _hurried_ utmost care he handed Judy over to Gideon, "Make sure she's comfortable, I'm flagging down that car."

"Stretch!" doubted Gideon, but cradled the bunny as he watched his cousin leap out of the seat, "Are you crazy! You'd rather tell some stranger what's going on rather than a couple of medics?"

"They don't have to know what's happening with Carrots, only that we're stuck!" declared Nick, and ran out into the middle of the road with his arms waving, "Follow my lead, okay?"

"I can't, _I_ have to hold Judy!" he called out of the driver side window, although he ducked the rabbit's head out of sight, whispering as she trembled again, "Don't worry, Jude, it'll be okay, Nick's jus' gone nuts, is all; you're prob'ly used to it by now."

Nick continued into the center of the oncoming lane, rising up on tiptoes to get his paws as high in the air as he could, tempted to use his borrowed flannel shirt as a makeshift flag. He laughed in victory as the (now noticeably large) vehicle slowed and pulled to their side of the road, headlights glaring through the windshield such that Gideon held up a palm to protect his eyes. The lights and engine dropped as Nick walked over to the covered pickup truck, putting on his best face for earning favors without the other party prying too deeply. "Hello!" he greeted in a jovial wave, swiftly making his way around the truck's front towards the driver's side, "What a stroke of luck, I thought we'd be stuck here all night and then some."

Out stepped the driver - to the truck's groaning suspension - a tall mammal to fit the size of the vehicle, and when the foxes' vision re-adjusted from the once-bright headlights, his broad physique impressed an abundance of muscularity. Unlike Bo's purposeful athleticism, what stood before them had the undirected bulkiness that came with a lifetime of manual labor; added with his already substantial altitude, the stranger looked more than capable of over-handing Gideon's van across the field. Staggering though his height and width were, these were not what sent Nick reeling in strained composure (which, at the end of the second consecutive day of straining composure, was just another Sunday evening for Nick Wilde), but the unmistakable teal shirt worn by someone of the nursing profession, someone who could might tell at a glance that Judy was not simply sleeping or exhausted, and more direly, was inclined to ask questions.

He was no older than Gideon, from the looks of it, and while his mane already grew in it resembled what "cropped" would be for a lion, which was still a bushy wreath that covered his cheeks, jaw, and chest, with plenty sticking out the back of his head. Gideon kept Judy out of sight as he studied the tawny stranger wearing a nurse's teal smocks under a pair of blue jeans. Try though he might, the stouter fox couldn't recognize him, which was odd because he thought he knew everyone in Preds' Corner, but maybe some new faces came by in those months spent at his bakery nearer town. It suddenly occurred to Gideon that this ambulant lion nurse might be the "Nurse Wild" mentioned earlier in the night, when he and Nick went to visit Bo at the hospital, and with that realization came the peripheral concern that he might be someone from a specific, painful part of his childhood; someone he shared a cell with in pred-therapy, and for sixteen years thought as only an imaginary friend made to cope with it all.

Logically, Gideon had nothing to worry about: if this _was_ "Lenny" - knowing his first name but not his last - then surely their meeting would click something in their minds, rendering questions of their identities superfluous and so they could progress from there. However, if he was simply _a_ lion, coincidentally in Bunnyburrow and around Gideon's age, then asking his name was expected in the common _savoir faire_ and easily distinguished the two lions apart. This in mind, Gideon breathed a little easier; until the nurse ducked his head to peek in through the windshield, to which Gideon's easier breathing caught behind the tongue and his lips pulled in a forced smile.

"Don't mind him, he's had a rough day," Nick dismissed when the lion gave a questioning look, "Driving calms him down, but then we got stuck, and _pfft_ -" noised the taller fox with an upward jerk of his thumb, "winds up like a spring."

A furrowed brow relaxed Gideon's face as he leaned out the window to join in on a conversation that, apparently, went on for a bit longer than he yet cared to notice, "I'm _plenty_ calm, thank you very much," he insisted, and then beamed, "Name's Gideon, Gideon Grey. Are you from Preds' Corner? Can't say I recognize you."

"Lanny Wild," the nurse replied cordially, and then smirked at Nick, "Without the 'e'. And I'm from South Savannah."

"Didn't peg you a city boy," chuckled Gideon in genuine relief, tossing a thumb at his cousin, "you ain't lanky like Stretch over there."

"Slender builds aid in slinking down alleyways, you see," Nick gesticulated professorially, "Through crowds, gaps in a fence, under low surfaces… it's a skulker's life for me."

The lion bounced under his shirt with a hearty chuckle, "Been working the docks of Lions Gate all my life and through nursing school, so 'lanky' wasn't an option. Anyway, let's see what we're dealing with here," he proposed, and with a pointing gesture from Nick, followed him around to the back.

The fox shrugged and sighed in defeat as he gestured to the newly-collapsed ditch and a rock on which the undercarriage bottomed out on, "I really have no idea what to make of it," said Nick in masterful deadpan to brewing chuckles, "I tried ZooTube for a how-to video, but then I got distracted, so he took my phone away."

"He ran out into the road in hopes you'd hit him and 'end his misery'," Gideon continued with a craning of his neck.

The lion laughed anew until his shoulders shook, holding up a palm for a cease-fire to catch his breath. "Okay okay, I think I can lift the backend out of the hole, but moving it could get risky."

"So we let it roll," Nick reasoned with a casual air, "trade the parking brake for the foot brake and that keeps the wheels from rolling until we need them to. Couldn't be simpler."

Lanny looked at the fender and jut his jaw with a speculative grunt, "That should work."

"You get that, Bangs?"

"Loud and clear, Stretch."

"Alright, Lanny, assume the position," directed Nick, taking a step back so that he was in plain view of the driver's side mirror, but could also watch the rear tires when he crouched. The lion situated himself in the miniature sinkhole with a squat, bracing his back against the doors of the van as he hooked his paws around the trailer hitch and then a bit further back for a better grip. At Gideon's thumbs-up, Nick crouched and pointed a 'go' at the lion, " _Mane_ power: on."

Lanny cycled a deep breath in preparation for a dead lift, digging heels into the ground and slowly rising up with an efforted grunt. While the van was no bigger than a shopping cart to the lion, it was still made of steel and fiberglass, and the feat was not to throw it over his head but to tilt it high enough that it cleared the rock, but only so far that the front end didn't point into the dirt.

"Almost," urged Nick, glancing at the lion's clenched jaw and flaring nostrils, and then Gideon's darting glances as the van's nose began to lean uncomfortably low, "Clear!" The vehicle lurched and Lanny staggered after it, releasing the trailer hitch to windmill his arms, tail slicing the air as he caught his balance. Nick jumped up and clapped the dirt from his knees and paws, "Tickle me pink, that worked _loads_ better than I thought it would. Thanks a bunch, Lanny, if there's anything we could do to repay you…?"

"Don't worry about it," assured the lion with a congenial smile, shaking out his leg as he stepped out of the hole, "Happy to be of service."

"Well, if you're ever-"

"Nick!" yelled Gideon, the driver's door flying open as the stouter fox stumbled out with Judy cradled to his chest, "She's getting worse, but it's not the same as what happened to _you_!" he blurted, borderline hysterical.

In a split second of shock that what he tried so desperately to hide was now out in the open, Nick's wide-eyed frown snapped to a determined grimace as he wheeled around to address the present nurse, "Okay, look, our friend's been poisoned by Night Howler, ingested roughly twenty minutes ago. Yes, we hid this fact from you. No, we tried to _stop_ her, but if you knew Judy Hopps you'd know that stopping her is impossible. If you still want to yell at us for it, fine, do it while I explain everything _later_ , but right now, can you help her?"

Lanny's gaze swept from the set face of one fox to the pleading dismay of the other, and then down to the seizing rabbit, eyes rolling into her skull and lip trembling to some hoarse, muted shriek. He nodded, "Lay her back with her head elevated and keep her warm, I have something that'll work," the lion instructed, and strode the other way around the van to his truck.

After the foxes exchanged a glance, Nick tugged his tie loose and tossed it onto Gideon's head (which seemed to bring him back from whatever worried daze beset him), unrolled the sleeves and tugged the buttons to shrug off his shirt without a second thought. "Right then, lay her down," he directed, propping himself up against the van's tire, and it wasn't until Gideon set her head on Nick's bare chest and saw the flannel shirt draped over them like a blanket, did he think to question any of it. "Oof," Nick huffed and rubbed her arms through the flannel, "She really got chilly, didn't she."

"Umm…" he looked away and wrung the necktie in his grip, "Should I…?"

"Don't make it weird, Bangs; this is a survival technique to maintain core body temperature," Nick explained, staring flatly up at his cousin, and then presented his wiggling fingers, "There, see? Both paws are visible."

Around came Lanny, toting a white briefcase with a red cross superimposed on a red, clawed paw symbol (such that where they intersected was the white of the case): the symbol of Preds' Corner General Hospital. The amiable lion from only a minute ago was replaced by a medical professional with a patient to treat, who knelt quietly to Nick and Judy's left. Either fox watched, but it didn't take a mind reader to know that Lanny was less than thrilled about the circumstances, rather like the babysitter cleaning up a mess caused by some bad little kits.

From the case came an injector gun, and into that injector gun a small capsule was loaded, "Show me her left arm, please," the nurse instructed, and Nick dutifully presented Judy's requested limb. With a gentle hiss, her eyes shot open and ears sprung to smack Nick's face on either side of his snout (to which he bit back a grunt). She stared into space, eyes dilated until hardly any of the violet of her irises was visible and pupils almost reflected the stars above, but then she relaxed suddenly, quietly against Nick with steady breaths.

The three males around her stayed dead quiet as the night counted the beats through chirping crickets. Gideon looked up at Lanny, "What now?" he whispered.

Lanny leaned in to better study Judy, "She's in REM sleep," he observed, touching a thumb to her eyebrow as the eyeball spun behind the lid, "It's all up to _her_ now."

Gideon frowned anew, "What?"

"I'll be honest; it's my first time using this," he said matter-of-factly, presenting the medical equipment, "which is one time more than I expected I _ever_ would."

Nick raised a finger as a point of order, "I have a silly question," which he then pointed at the injector, "What _is_ that?"

The empty capsule popped out with a flick of the lion's thumb, "Night Howler antidote, courtesy of a paranoid hospital director that made them standard issue ever since the pred-scare." This invoked a grin from Nick as he utilized the back of his paw for a smug batting of Gideon's arm. "Not to push a stereotype," Lanny continued conversationally, "but she's a badger, as stubborn as they come," and added with a chuckle, "It's sort of a running joke that she's 'Dr. Honey'."

Nick raised his ears and brow, "I have another silly question," which he then relaxed in his critical nonchalance, "is this Dr. _Madge_ Honey-Badger of pred-scare infamy?"

"Yes, that's her;" Lanny answered patiently, "Lionheart brought her in from Preds' Corner because she's the leading authority on prediatrics in the greater Zootopian area. You both probably already know about the plea bargain Lionheart got for her and his team of timbre wolves, so I won't bother going into it. Dr. Honey returned to PC General and overhauled _every_ thing until it was up to code, down to how long food stays in the vending machines. Finally, she ordered the Night Howler antidote in bulk along with these injectors."

"That plea bargain will go down in court case history as the 'Lionheart Defense', something I'm sure the former mayor didn't want to be remembered for," smirked Nick, and easily settled back against the tire he leaned on.

"Essy was part of that defense team, ya'know," Gideon chimed in, "According to her, Bagh & Little have something of a cold rivalry with the DA, so when _he_ went after Lionheart, Lionheart set _them_ up to defend his wolves and Dr. Honey."

"We'll need to chat her up tonight, see if we can get any morsels-"

"Nice try, Nick," interrupted Lanny with a cocked grin, "You promised to tell me why Judy has Night Howler in her system, and I'm holding you to it."

"Can't blame a fox for trying," he grinned, and spotted something on the empty capsule as it was returned to its black foam enclosure: the unmistakable logo for Hexward Pharmaceuticals. The case closed, and Nick dove into the abridged version of his weekend, "As I'm sure you're well aware, the TBR starts tomorrow - it's rather hard to miss - and Gideon here holds the distinguished honor of its _first_ fox vendor."

"I'll be hosting a pie-eating contest, which I'm also providing whipped cream for," Gideon added.

"We three," Nick continued with a generic wheeling of his wrist, "have reason to believe that said whipped cream - unbeknownst to said fox vendor - was _poisoned_ with Night Howler," and paused for dramatic effect.

Lanny sat patiently as the dramatic pause lingered, fingers drumming on his knees. He then arched his eyebrows and tilted his head expectantly.

"Stretch is hypersensitive to it," Gideon picked it up when Nick stared at the lion in minor disappointment; "he had a lick of it on Friday and was out like a light. Good ol' CPR brought him back, but he didn't do any of the stuff Judy is doing now."

To which Nick elaborated, "After some sleuthing, we induced that what's in the whipped cream is a new, experimental drug meant for the streets of Zootopia, and the pie-eating contest was a cover to try it out on a slew of bunnies from varying origins. Judy here, unsatisfied with generic danger, took it upon herself to test the drug, since our only insight on its effects are me, Bangs, and another bunny that upchucked it almost immediately; all with radically different results. When she wakes up, maybe we can shed some light onto what's so dangerous about it, because physiologically speaking, Judy is self-proclaimed as 'remarkably average'."

"Yeah, she's anything _but_ when it comes to what's on the inside, though," Gideon pointed out, smiling at the gray bunny shifting in subtle ways beneath the flannel shirt. The smile faded when she fidgeted and stiffened, to which Nick put both arms around her once more, keeping her back to his chest.

"C'mon, Carrots," he whispered, "You can beat this."

Judy shivered, whimpered, trembled from the tips of her ears to the ends of her toes, and then went rigid, chest inflating and jaw slacking as if preparing to scream… yet held at an ever-rising crescendo. Lanny leaned forward onto a knee and touched two careful fingers around an eye to pry the lid open, his other paw whipping out a penlight to shine it in, and repeated on the other eye, "Okay, pupils are contracting… normalizing," he explained, and so she exhaled in a long, relieving breath. The lion sat back, looking intently at Judy as she drifted to her side and lounged upon Nick, even pulling the shirt closer, and nearly burying herself into his chest. Responding in kind, Nick held her gradually warming body, even allowing himself a grateful smile.

The violet eyes fluttered open, looking to either fox in wonder and welling tears. Judy sat up in Nick's lap as Gideon leaned in excitedly, but before any words had a chance to share an arm wrapped around each of the foxes' necks, pulling into hug with a strength defying her small physique. Her small physique persisted in the _length_ of her arms, however, and as she choked on joyful sobs, they simply choked.

"Villainous!" gasped Nick, "It makes bunnies even _more_ emotional!"

"Jude!" strained Gideon, "Air!"

"Oh!" started Judy, releasing the heaving foxes, her ears up and entire body twitching with excitement, "Notebook!" she managed to rattle off, clapping at her empty pockets desperately. Quick as a whip, Judy reached into _Nick_ 's pockets to pull out _his_ phone and hop off his lap, still wearing the flannel shirt as though it were a cloak (and used as a facial tissue).

"Help, police! I've been mugged!" Nick coughed, rubbing his throat as he looked over at his partner while the other paw braced the van so he might stagger to his feet. He heard the telltale signs of a long, complex pin-number punched into his phone, and the accepting chime of an unlocked screen, "Whoa, hey, d'you have a warrant there, Officer Hopps, or should I tattle to the Chief about this invasion of privacy?"

"Memo… memo…" she quietly repeated, unlistening in a way Nick recognized as his partner's hyper-focused mindset, which takes nothing less than physical displacement or extreme audial annoyance (Nick's favorite is blowing a kazoo in her ear) to garner attention away from. The voice-to-text microphone beeped merrily, "I don't have a lot of time, so this needs to be quick.

"Hexward is somehow involved in the making of a drug from _midnicampum holicithias_ that causes severe depression. Now, I don't know _how_ or _why_ they're involved, _yet_ , maybe they're making it themselves or are only _used_ as a place to make it. The reason _why_ such a drug exists is also baffling, but that's something to look into.

"There's a bunny, golden fur, brown eyes, mid-to-late twenties named 'Robert Briar', but his medical records or death certificate could go by 'Bertie Briar', I think he's already dead, and whatever happened to him is directly correlated to the effects of this new Night Howler drug, beyond the depression, which I think he already had. Make sure to look into it." She softly groaned and tapped her foot against the ground, "It's fading…

"Okay, Laverne Hopps, also known as 'Lovey Hopps', she's my great-great-aunt from eighty or ninety years ago, famous operatic singer. Legend goes that she sang the songs written by a rabbit infected with mange, except _I_ think her composer was actually a _fox_ , but his identity was kept hidden because back then it was _illegal_ for foxes to read and write, and not only that, teaching them was punishable by _death_. Now, Lovey taught a fox to read and write, maybe she taught others, too, I can't say for sure, it's all gotten fuzzy… okay, that should do for now," and ended the memo. She pivoted, brow still knitted in determination as she typed away on the phone for a moment longer, followed by the noteworthy "Sent" whistle.

Nick stood with paws on his hips and a patiently unamused expression, "So, welcome back to the land of the living," he sing-songed, paws folded behind his back as he leaned forward condescendingly, "That was quite a lot to discover on our little trip. Care to elaborate?"

After a flurry of footfall, Judy was against him once more, trembling as she stood, arms around his waist and face in his chest, earning a winded grunt from the fox, "I'm sorry, Nick, I had this crazy dream and I learned _so_ much, but as soon as I woke up I started forgetting it." She stepped back and looked up to him pleadingly, even though she looked more grateful than regretful, as if the apology was _not_ for swiping his phone, "I went right to the memo, didn't even notice the wallpaper, and I sent it only to myself so you can delete it," she explained, returning the mobile device in both paws.

Their eyes locked, but Nick couldn't find it in him to stay mad at her. So, as he often did when Judy was particularly expressive, he sighed a heavy sigh and accepted the phone, "One of these days, you'll have to teach me how you get your eyes to shimmer like that without crying," he added with a smirk, "but for now, I'll settle for getting my shirt back."

"Right, right, of course," she promptly agreed, and shrugged the shirt off to return it. While Nick was donning the flannel garb, Judy stepped past him and hesitated, looking at Gideon as he sat in the dirt, knees propped up. He looked ready to greet her but, as before, didn't get the chance before she covered ground and launched herself around his neck. Unlike before, he could breathe easily as Judy sat on his stomach while her careful paws examined his face, smiling brightly and nestling under his chin.

Gideon was… understandably confused and wary, since earlier that day they embraced in the same manner, and though comforting at first it - unknowingly - triggered a trauma that either thought was long behind them, yet dredged up when Judy discovered his muzzle scars. The chill from when she was cradled, trembling to his chest gave way to a warmth that Gideon could only describe as… absolution. So, he sat up and allowed a smile on his face when his paws braced her back. "That Night Howler stuff must do something real crazy, huh Jude?" he suggested, and continued sitting up as she slipped off to stand nearby.

"I'll do my best to describe it, Gid, but right now all I've got is raw data and a few hunches," she began, wiping her eye on a wrist before her ear sprung in the lion's direction, to which a full pivot was afforded. There, Lanny sat back on his ankles, paws resting on his thighs, one still holding the penlight though no longer on; he looked to her and she to him, someone she knew but did not yet meet.

"Carrots, I would like to introduce you to the esteemed Lanny Wild, whose known feats of heroism count in the twos and specify to bunnies," Nick began with a courteous flair, correcting his borrowed shirt by rolling the sleeves to the elbow, "Esteemed Lanny Wild, this is our beloved Judy Hopps, doer of good and well-meaning meddler."

"We saw each other at the hospital earlier," Lanny remembered with a smile, stashing his penlight before extending a gesture of greeting.

"I didn't get a chance to thank you for helping Bo," Judy replied, grasping his paw in both of hers and shaking it to the best of her ability, "So, thank you."

"It was more of a 'right place, right time' kind of thing," he assured, rubbing the back of his head with his still free paw, "Actually, in a way, I have _you_ to thank for trying out this Night Howler antidote-" he began, and when he tried to reference the medical case, found that Judy still had an iron lock on his tawny mitt.

"And… thank you, for _that_ as well," she said, and by the tremble of her chin looked ready to burst into tears again but managed to gulp it down. It seemed she harbored some great, yet terrible secret as she stared at the lion's progressively bewildered face.

"Heh," he chuckled, very lightly attempting to release her grip, "Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."

"Actually…" Judy said with a slight incline of her head, unhanding his paw to touch her index fingers together, "This might sound _weird_ , but considering the circumstances, would you…" and with a flick of her wrists, pointed both fingers up to a sweet quirk of her eyebrows and lips, emphasizing her request with a "Hmm?".

At this point, Nick was reaching towards Gideon to accept the offered necktie, but his attention snapped towards Judy and, instead, quickly pulled out his phone. This confused the stouter fox, blinking at the rejection of the neckwear to watch as Nick activated the video camera app, "Oh my gosh," he whispered and crouched down, repositioning to get a better shot, " _No_ one back at the precinct will believe it…

"Ladies and gentlemammals," he whispered into the mike, "This is Nick Wilde, and what you are seeing is undoctored, irrefutable proof that Officer Judy Hopps, a.k.a. 'Carrots', a.k.a. 'Officer Fluff', is not only _allowing_ herself to be lifted off the ground by a larger mammal, but as you can see by her readiness to be snuggled like a stuffed animal - and even _hugging_ him in return! - she does so of her own volition. This is, without a doubt, the _cutest_ thing I have ever seen. Nick Wilde: out," and ended the recording.

"I can hear you, Slick."

"Then you'll know I'm changing the PIN on my phone," Nick boasted gleefully, waving the device on his way back to Gideon to retrieve the borrowed necktie… only to find that Gideon was wearing it, and smugly so. "Okay, Bangs, I'll have my tie back, now."

"Oh, this?" grinned Gideon, and earned a flat stare as he straightened the neckwear, "It's actually mine, and you didn't want it, so… _I_ 'm wearing it. Thanks for tying it, by-the-by, always did have trouble with the knot."

"It's quite fetching," commented Judy, sauntering up beside a cross-armed Nick and rubbing her chin, "He really pulls off the whole devil-may-care look, don't you think?" she observed, as Gideon put his paws in his pockets while leaning on one leg suavely.

Nick huffed, but then shrugged with a smile, "Didn't I say the look would catch on?"

"No, never."

The soft rumbling of overhead laughter directed their attention upwards as Lanny was leaned over to clap his knees clean, "This is probably _the_ most interesting night I've had since I got here," he reported, "figures it'd also be the last."

"Going back to South Savannah?" asked Gideon.

"Afraid so," he said, and stooped to pick up the case of Night Howler antidote, "I'm only in town up until the TBR, but I still have one more delivery to make before I head back." He then addressed Judy and pulled out his phone, "Do you know if…" and referenced his screen with a flick of his thumb, " _Otto Hopps_ is still at the house?"

"Pop-Pop? Yes, I saw him before we left," she shrugged and 'hmm'd with a patient smile, "It's probably his arthritis medicine, which considering he's turning one-hundred-two this year, it's a wonder that's all he's got-" and drifted off in thought, eyes gradually brighter as she touched her chin.

"Still got a lot of life left in him," chuckled Lanny, looking at the side of van, "Before I leave, could I get your number, Gideon? I don't know if you deliver to the city, but I had one of your cream puffs at the hospital the other day, and that's all it took to get me hooked," he requested hopefully.

"Oh, well…" the stouter fox faltered, rubbing the back of his neck, "I never delivered to the _city_ before," he began, and quickly said to a crestfallen lion, "but if you're not leavin' _tonight_ , I might be able to send you off with a bunch baked goods tomorrow? It'd have to be later in the day, though, since I'll be busy all morning."

The tawny face beamed, "That'd be great, thanks! Could I get your number anyway? In case you _do_ start delivering to the city, I want to be one of your first clients."

"Umm, sure," Gideon smiled uncertainly, exchanging a glance with Nick, but pulled out his phone and brought up his contact list, "And… sync," he said, tapping a button when pointing it at Lanny's phone. A simple animation of pawprints paced up and down the screen, leading from one phone to the other… and to the other.

"Yoink," smirked Nick, "And now _I_ have Nurse Wild's contact info, too. For… _reasons_."

Lanny looked down at his phone at the two new numbers before they were automatically sorted, "I mean, you could've _asked_ , I would have said 'yes'?"

An arm slung around Gideon's neck as Nick leaned in, "It's more fun this way."

"Thank you again, Lanny," said Judy, "Also… I'm sure you can appreciate the _sensitivity_ of what we're dealing with here?"

The lion looked them all over, quiet, but waved a paw in smiling goodbye, and bee lined for his truck, "Sounds like a case of food poisoning to me, but it's not so unusual for a young rabbit to eat Night Howler by accident. G'night." The three smaller mammals bid him fond farewells as his engine revved and drove onto the paved road once more, the red of his taillights soon specks in the distance and the roar only an echo.

Judy playfully nudged Nick's shoulder, "You plan to have him on standby for the pie-eating contest tomorrow, don't you? Even though all the bad whipped cream is disposed of, save one container, you think some will slip in anyway."

He smirked his wryest, "Let's call it… 'medical insurance'. Honestly, it was a cakewalk thanks to Bangs here following my lead, I can't have done it without him," Nick lauded with a clap of Gideon's back.

The momentary frown of confusion flickered to as smug a grin as he could manage on such short notice, "Well, umm… future clientele, and all that, right? A little extra effort can go a long way, ya'know."

"So, Carrots," Nick continued as they began piling into the van, Gideon at the wheel and Nick riding shotgun, Judy contenting herself with the middle (and thus control of the radio), "You had that 'eureka' look in your eyes."

She boasted her own smug grin with a buckling of her seatbelt, and crossed one leg over the other with a tap of her chin, "I have a century-old grandpa I can ply for information," Judy pondered, "With any luck some of it might be useful."

"Is this about 'Bertie Briar'?" inquired the taller fox, the van's engine rumbling to life as they pulled onto the road and towards the sheriff's office.

"Oh, good, I was hoping you'd recognize him," beamed Judy.

"Don't get too excited, Fluffs," Nick dismissed, "I remember him from a jump rope song, and _no_ mention of Night Howler, depression, or being a bunny."

"Let's hear it anyway," she grinned, "Right now, I'm gathering all the information I can; obscure, archaic, hearsay, _any_ thing."

"Alright," he shrugged and took a moment to think on it:

"Bertie Briar, what a crier

Scared to death, there's no denier

Dropped his jaw at what he saw

How many seconds did he caw?

"Which began the counting. Afterwards, everyone involved screamed at the top of their lungs, trying to go as long as the count indicated. Very popular back when I was young, especially by this one girl who took it upon herself to _always_ scream in someone's ear," Nick explained and then muttered under his breath, "Oh, how I _hated_ that Loxy…"

Judy rolled this around in her head, and then spotted her phone sitting in a compartment of the dashboard. She pulled it out and flicked it on, spotting the voicemail message from 'Nick', "Oh good, it went through."

"Carrots?"

"Yes?"

"Bertie Briar?"

"An urban legend," she said matter-of-factly, and swiped her phone open to access the text messages, "I'll send the profile over to Benny, he should be in the precinct tomorrow."

"What urban legend is this?" asked Gideon, although it sounded like he might've known more than he was letting on.

"That bunnies can be scared-to-death," Judy continued conversationally while typing, "but like I said, urban legend. It's also _extraordinarily_ offensive. Maybe in the dark ages it was possible, with death lurking around every corner, but nowadays the will to live is a bit stronger, at the very least, the will to not die-" and stopped short, that 'eureka' look filling her eyes as he gazed over the dark road, but it was not the bright spark from before, "Unless… they suffered from clinical depression…"


	9. Chapter 9

Nick took note of the undivided attention in Judy's eyes and face, almost recognizing it as when she conversed with someone, yet the fact that no one talked was, ironically, telling. "If the floor is open, I would like to change the subject," he began, and got a curious look from both violet eyes and blue (although more so the former than the latter, since the latter should stay on the road while driving), "Now that we're finally on our way to making this Night Howler problem of ours _not_ our problem, I would like to address a concern that's been gnawing at me for the last… oh… half-hour, or so."

"Sure thing, Slick, what's bugging you?" Judy asked cheerily.

"What were you thinking!" he barked, leaning against his seatbelt to jab at a shrinking Judy, "You do not - I repeat - do _not_ test experimental _any_ thing on yourself outside of a controlled environment, which, I might add, behind a van in the driveway does _not_ qualify!

"Do you realize that Magnus Hopps probably wants Gideon and I _dead_ after that little meet- &-greet in the kitchen? Imagine if we brought you in mere minutes after we left and you start seizing up, foaming at the mouth, but the best defense we can give is 'Oh, she ate some bad whipped cream'. The miracle tonight is not that a built-like-a-brick-house, wandering _nurse_ with Night Howler antidote tripped over us; it's that we haven't already been assassinated!" Nick's nostrils flared and chest heaved as he stared hard into Judy, who was pressed into the side of Gideon, who was trying to drive in his lane. He sat back and crossed his arms, shooting daggers into the passing night after a few good blinks.

"Nick-" she muttered after several seconds of his seething.

"Carrots," he cut off, head ducked and fingers bracing his temples, before he turned on her with a tear-welled glare, "don't _ever_ scare me like that again. Maybe _you_ can get by in life with a complete disregard for what happens to Judy Hopps, but the rest of us?" gesturing to himself and Gideon, "Us common, ordinary folk? _We_ can't… we just _can't_.

"I know," he cut her off again with a raised palm and a deep breath; "I know you didn't _mean_ to make us worry, but it's what we _do_. We're your friends and we love you, so we _have_ to worry about you when you do dumb things, especially dumb things where we… where we can't help. I assume Bangs worried, at least. Bangs, were you worried?"

The driver cleared his throat loudly, a few times, "Well, maybe a little, but don't you think you're being a bit harsh-?"

"No, Gideon," sighed Judy, clasping his arm, "Nick's right. What I did was incredibly shortsighted - stupid, even - and I should have known better. I can't imagine how I looked while I was under, but to bring me into the house with out-of-town relatives, especially the older ones? It'd be such a firestorm that my parents could _not_ contain, and that's not even _considering_ Uncle Magnus. I should've waited until we got to Sheriff Longmare, or even tested it at the hospital." She looked at her partner's saddened face, and quickly leaned up to kiss his cheek, "I'm sorry I made you worry so much."

"Hey, I worried _too_ , do I get a kiss?" asked Gideon in the absence of any verbal response from Nick.

Judy smirked over a shoulder at him, "You get a ' _little_ ' kiss," she said with a pinching gesture, and then leaned up the other way to peck his cheek, delighting the stouter fox all the same. Sitting back in her seat, Judy addressed Nick once more, "So… are we good?"

Nick exhaled and slumped against the passenger door, propping his head up on an elbow, "I don't know how you bunnies get so emotional so often, because that whole tirade was _exhausting_. But yeah, we're good," he grinned, and gave her a thumbs-up, "I probably should've griped more before you ate the whipped cream, though, so that's on me."

"I guess… I guess I wanted to prove that I was in this, too," Judy thought aloud, spinning her phone between her palms.

"There was _never_ a doubt about that, Carrots."

"To myself, I mean. You, Gid, and Bo all ate the whipped cream, which makes _me_ the only one who didn't that also knows about the Night Howler drug. And then I saw that look in your eyes, Nick, that scared, hurt look when you explained 'ka-poof!'. So, I put some pelt in the game the best way I could think of… and now someone we've only known _of_ for half-an-evening is also in on it; I guess we'll see what comes of that."

Gideon grunted quietly, "This is really careening, isn't it? That makes… five mammals who know about some big scheme to test a drug on- ya'know, I can't hear it out loud, again, it gets more ridiculous each time. So Judy," he said, "What all is this stuff supposed to do? You said something about causing depression, and then got all quiet about bunnies being scared-to-death and the death shriek-" but cleared his throat loudly once more.

" _I_ never mentioned the 'death shriek'," Judy said calmly.

"Bangs, the 'death shriek' isn't _real_ ," Nick patiently explained, and then addressed the back of Judy's head, "We saw it in a movie last night-" but ceased at her raised finger.

"Yeah, typical city fox thing to say, but you live out here and hear the stories about it. 'The Curse of the Pharabbit'? 'The Wail of the Bunshee'? You wanna scare a young pred, that's how you do it," he shivered, fingers gripping the wheel, "Don't matter if it's real or not, or if it stopped being real, it's still scary."

Nick quirked a cynic's brow, "What say you, resident rabbit?" he queried, "You're accustomed to folklore both quaint and steadfast, so perhaps you can shed some light on a so-called 'shriek' that explodes the brains of predators?"

"It makes you go insane, Stretch, and we have neighbors that'll vouch for it, because it happened to one of theirs. We'll ask 'em when we get to my house since they didn't go on that cruise."

"Is this the wolf family I saw raising chickens and _ravens_?"

"The ravens are their _pets_ , I'll have you know, but yes, that's them."

" _You_ ask them, I'm already involved with a wolf pack at work and I know about the dynamics that comes with it, and quite frankly, I'm reaching capacity for backwater traditions with screaming bunnies and wolves with ravens."

"And here I thought you were _sly_ ," scoffed Gideon, "Tell 'em, Judy, the death-shriek isn't jus' some made-up thing," he insisted though not as a boast, but as one would insist that there was, indeed, a monster in the closet.

Judy quietly sank back in her seat, ears forward as she wove her fingers, indexes pointed whereupon her nose touched, and with each passing instance the tension grew tighter before she answered. "There is _some_ merit-" and, as she knew would happen, earned revulsion of significant difference from either fox.

"So it's true!"

"I demand sources."

"I knew it, all this time, it's been true!"

"If we weren't barreling down a highway in the middle of nowhere…"

"Yeah? Well, tuck and roll, Stretch," and then unlocked the doors.

"I've survived worse," and made to unbuckle his seatbelt.

Judy pointed to them both with a "Shush," though her head stayed down, thus earning their compliance (and a re-locking of the doors), "It is and has been a topic of controversy amongst rabbits, the existence of the death-shriek. Evolutionarily speaking, something directly associated with personal death doesn't last long enough to procreate, but can paradoxically _thrive_ in a modern age where death is less prevalent. That said, if there were a gray area - a 'sweet spot' if you will - between danger and safety, say, if ancient bunnies boasted the highest population amongst all mammals, even rodents, there might be a use for a 'death shriek'."

Nick's claws drummed slowly on the door's armrest, "When and where, Professor Hopps, did you study all of this specific information?"

"BU," she promptly smirked, fingers steepled, "The library there is _quite_ extensive."

"I _see_. So what use, even in large populations, _is_ there for a terminal evolutionary trait?"

She sat up when the position got too uncomfortable and rolled her shoulders, "Of all the back-and-forth on it, one of the best arguments I could find is that it acted as a warning system for ancient bunnies and a distraction for hunting predators. Before we were agriculturists, bunnies foraged for food, a risky endeavor each and every day. Interestingly, it was the _foragers_ that were the stronger and braver of the bunnies, while the lookouts were like canaries in a coalmine, giving up their own lives to alert the other bunnies while also disorienting their attackers. It's speculated that doing this spared them a gruesome death and allowed the warren to survive as a whole."

"But?" prompted Nick.

" _But_ ," agreed Judy, "according to modern medical science, while sudden cardiac arrest from fear is _possible_ , it is by no means _probable_ outside of old age, a weak heart, or fatal illness, and of the few documented cases proving otherwise I've found there's _no_ mention of the death-shriek. So, between classes, I gathered up all the information I could find from wherever I could find it, doing the best I could to match consistencies and patterns, no matter how outlandish it seemed."

"And?" prompted Gideon.

" _And_ ," admitted Judy, "the strongest thread of evidence pointed to what I already suspected: the death-shriek happens almost exclusively with rabbits; except it's not part of _any_ rabbit lore, only in the lore of _other_ mammals' interactions with rabbits. However, while I was under the effect of the Night Howler, I experienced three things that I don't think I'll ever forget: first, crippling depression, most likely held over from when I blamed myself for the pred-scare; second, all-consuming, irrational, mortal _terror_ , which was only at the very end of the dream; and third, a sensation in my throat and chest that felt like a scream," she listed academically.

"Suggestive. I don't suppose all of this was labeled for your convenience?" asked Nick.

Judy smiled and shrugged, "It took some piecing together. I only have vague feelings from the dream right now, but from what I can remember figuring out, the drug is designed to sink bunnies into a pit of despair, and it wasn't until the connection was made to Bertie Briar did I realize _why_ ," she said, and pulled up a search engine, "As I said, he's part of an urban legend in the rabbit community, which I suppose spans both city and farm," and nodded to Nick, "However, he also has use as a cautionary tale."

"What's he caution?" asked Gideon.

"That trying could lead to almost certain death."

"Yes, these are the things we should teach our young," stated Nick.

"I knew of him as 'Briar the Trier' as a kid, and the best I can figure he's a fairly recent addition to the bunny storybook. For the record, _my_ parents _never_ read us Briar the Trier (I heard about it from other kids) and they were always supportive of trying - initially, anyway, I think there were a few things my older siblings did to make them a little… try-shy. I probably stumbled over 'Bertie Briar' sometime during my extracurricular research, but with only bedtime stories to go on, and since the jump rope song you talked about never came around to Bunnyburrow, I didn't have a lot of other data-points to connect him to."

The van slowed, to the officers' attention, and both looked at a ghastly Gideon, "Hey Jude," he muttered and gulped, "Does that Night Howler stuff cause the death-shriek?"

"Well…" Judy said carefully, looking at the speedometer and then down to the pedals as they coasted, "In a roundabout way, it _could_." The van began to sputter, which was the only thing that reached Gideon to signal him to shift from fifth gear into neutral and lean into the brake, thusly lurching the van forward. After bracing the dashboard in the sudden stop, Judy engaged the parking brake as Nick clicked the hazard lights, since they were still in the middle of road. "Gid?" she asked soothingly, undoing her seatbelt and touching his arm.

"I almost… tomorrow… bunnies… screamed to death…" he began to heave, and certainly, the pelt of his paws stretched tight over his knuckles. Judy gestured to Nick, but he was already unbuckled and leaping out the passenger door, scurrying around the front to the driver's side. Gideon continued his hollow affirmations, chuckling in unnerving ways as his paws were unlocked from the steering wheel with soft clicks of his claws. He did loosen, though, and accepted an ushering from either side to the middle seat with Nick slipping into his place. "I almost died," Gideon repeated in a whimper, a glazed, distant look in his eyes as he raked through the fur on his arms, "At the pie eating contest tomorrow, all those bunnies, they'd have screamed me to death. I almost… I almost _died_ , Jude… tomorrow, with all those bunnies, they'd have screamed to death, and I almost…"

"There there, Gid, we won't let that happen," cooed Judy, and exchanged a worried frown with her partner before she spoke in a sweet tone, "Isn't that right, Nick?"

"Absolutely correct, Judy, we've got the _last_ of the Night Howler stuff in this van, and we're on our way to Sheriff Longmare's _right now_ ," he explained in a gentle, paternal voice, the same he used in that elephantine ice cream parlor where he and Judy first met, "There, it'll be sealed up safe and sound in the evidence locker, we'll get the investigation started, and then we'll head home; how's that sound?" It seemed to have a (gradually) calming effect on the stouter fox when paired with the rabbit bracing his elbow and knuckle, and though she tried to disengage Gideon's fingers from his own pelt, Judy found his grip a tad surer than she dared apply force on.

She looked up at the stouter fox, still staring out into the night with flaring nostrils and darting eyes, lips trembling with unintelligent phrases that she could certainly hear but not distinguish - at least, she could distinguish no _words_. What she _could_ distinguish was that raw emotion so often mitigated by a conscious, logical mind, now freed by compounding brushes with undeniable reminders of mortality. There were times, it seemed, in which Judy overlooked that those closest to her were not steeled as she was, and perhaps needed a guiding touch through their troubles. In Gideon's case, it was emphasized by that emotion she heard in his voice as children, that pleading call to "Help me" which in the recent year since he baked with the Hopps Farm produce grew into an aid for others, now returned to its desperate cry. Judy, in a whispering flash of inspiration, leaned up quicker than the blink of an eye to kiss the side of his snout, right behind the nose, and then sat back to watch.

Gideon's ears flicked back and forth as if calibrating, for an instant flaring bright red and then fading to a healthy pink inside the darker fur. His eyes blinked and pupils dilated to their normal diameter, returning to the inside of the van. The clenching jaw relaxed like a wave of relief that spread from the epicenter right behind his nose on the right side, and he almost melted into the seat as his claws unlocked from his arms. Letting out a low, long breath through puckered lips, he rested his paws on his thighs and leaned back into the cushion. "I dunno, guys," he said in his normal voice, lifting a heavy mitt of a paw only to let it fall back onto his denim, "I don't think I got much more steel left in me. I tell you h'wat, though, I'll be glad when this stuff is good and gone," and tossed a thumb over his shoulder with the other paw, which, too, fell heavily back into his lap. As the nervous wreck visibly relaxed and folded his paws on his stomach, looking out through the windshield not at the empty space between but to the stars beyond, Judy leaned forward to gave Nick a discreet thumbs-up and pleased smile. Nick whispered "Cute" so low he knew only she could hear it, and grinned a sucrose grin. Judy glowered.

"So, fun fact," Nick initiated after some seconds of silence, "Hexward makes the Night Howler antidote."

"They do?" asked Gideon, though he didn't seem _very_ surprised.

"They _do_ ," confirmed Nick, "Our timely lifesaver, Nurse Wild, had a case of it and clear as day was the Hexward logo on one of the capsules."

"I knew about Hexward and the antidote," Judy revealed, leaning around Gideon's profile to discuss the observation, "but it was already studied on pollen addicts and - with seventy-two percent conclusiveness - found that while it certainly cleans the system of its effects, it makes for a _worse_ withdrawal, yet, oddly enough, I'm not suffering _any_ thing of the sort."

Nick was thoughtful a moment, "Carrots, you know I have a complicated relationship with admitting when I'm wrong, but what if I'm wrong about the whipped cream, and it's not pollen, _per se_?"

Gideon's eyes lit up, "Bo said yesterday that how you'd get Night Howler into the whipped cream was with a honey, didn't he?"

"When was _this_?" asked Judy with sprung ears.

"Before meeting you at the bakery; we inducted Punch into the company of foxes," explained Nick, and then smirked, "I'd say he earned those glow-in-the-dark sunglasses."

"Night howler _honey_ , made from the nectar of _midnicampum holicithias_ …" she wondered, "I never thought of it before, and while it's certainly _possible_ to do so would require a way to negate the effect of the pollen on the bees."

"Tha's what Bo said," remarked Gideon, "that you'd need a synthetic hives with synthetic bees to make the honey."

"A synthetic hive still has natural bees in it, Gid," she corrected, "but… there is a way to make honey with _out_ bees. Collect the nectar from the flowers; add the enzyme to break down the sucrose, dry it out to the desired viscosity, and _boom_ , honey. Considering that apiarists get all that simply by keeping bees, I can't imagine it's very cost efficient to synthesize it in the laboratory, not when only a quarter of the nectar is viable honey."

"What do they teach as this university of yours, Carrots?"

She chuckled and flicked her wrist dismissively, "Don't be silly, beekeeping sciences is more of a Deerbrooke thing than Bunnyburrow, and practiced more by hares than rabbits. In fact, a lot of Bunnyburrow's honey comes from the hares of the hills on the outskirts of Horseshire." She grabbed loosely at the air in front of her, "If this is Bunnyburrow…" and drew a large oval, "and this is Horseshire, then where I'm talking takes up this top edge," and swept wide over where she drew the oval, "It's locally known as either the 'Honeyhills' or 'Hares' Bluff', but as far as the post office is concerned, it's still part of Bunnyburrow."

Gideon drew a triangle over where Judy drew the oval, but not where she swept for the hills. "Preds' Corner would be over _here_ , somewhere," he said, then closed a circle with his thumb and fingers a bit further out, "Which is the closest part of Bunnyburrow to the Knottedwood."

"Not sure if you two fully grasp the concept of driving and keeping one's eyes to the road, but I didn't catch _any_ of that visualization," Nick admitted, "I tell you what, though, the next time we have access to a bird's eye view - maybe with some kind of _accurate_ cartographic technology - I'd be more than happy to pay attention to what you both have to share on the subject of boondocks geography.

"More to the point," he continued, "I'm spotting some of my own connections about a specific bunny, who coincidentally _also_ became a household name throughout Zootopia three decades ago or thereabouts: Felix Oswald Lapis."

"The CEO of Hexward?" Judy began, first in incredulity, and then in curiosity, "He did come from Deerbrooke, so he _might_ have an apiary background… I don't know him personally, but he's the biggest philotherian in the city, respected across not only species but classes, as well. To his credit,  Furbes magazine named Hexward Pharmaceuticals one of 'Zootopia's Most Ethical Companies' _several_ years running."

"But?" prompted Nick.

" _But_ ," she agreed, however reluctantly, "I can't deny that the evidence points in his direction."

"Perhaps we should start our own, independent investigation into Saint Felix," the taller fox suggested.

Judy gave this a second of thought, "No, no need," she smirked, and crossed one leg over the other, paws hooked around a knee, "You know how I feel about 'independent investigations', especially ones outside of the precinct's official framework."

"They're your hobby," her partner pointed out.

" _Tsktsk_ , Slick, I thought you knew me better than _that_ ," grinned the rabbit, "I follow my gut when it comes to matters like this. Now, I know what you're going to say about him being a prominent bunny and me being naïve, so I'll cut you off at the pass here and now: the reason we work so well together as partners is because we can see both sides on the same subject without going at each other's throats, which allows us to come to an objective answer based on the available evidence."

Nick whispered to Gideon, "That's bunny-talk for 'You're one-hundred percent right, Nick, but I wanted to make chief of police before taking on big pharma'."

"It _means_ that starting an independent investigation would be jumping the gun when an _official_ investigation - that we can _easily_ be a part of, mind you - not only has a higher chance of success, but would avoid all the hassle of Chief Bogo's rant about how much paperwork our dragonslaying will make for him."

"Well, shoot," smirked Gideon, turning to Nick, "that was the foxiest argument I ever heard from a bunny. There's lots of you rubbin' off on her, huh?"

"It comes at a price, my friend," he sighed, dramatically so, and smacked his lips, "I can still taste that emotional outburst from earlier."

"Oh, Slick," she scoffed with an almost audible roll of her eyes, "Starting an investigation of _any_ kind requires information, and _you_ , Mr. I-Know-Everybody, want to start digging into someone _you_ think is named 'Felix'."

The silence between the three of them was nigh palpable, its increasing weight grew Judy's smugness, and to a much more gradual degree, Gideon's utter amusement. Nick groaned in long agony, keeping one grip on the steering wheel as the other covered half of his face, fingers draped over his snout, "'Felix' is a _title_ ," and sighed to ask, returning his paws to 10-&-2 on the wheel, "Where's it from?"

Judy examined her fingers and the small claws atop each before she answered, "House of Blessings. Thought _you_ would've known that."

"I think that'd be what Stretch here calls 'penthouse-level info'," Gideon reasoned, amused smirk unfading.

"It's probably on Woolipedia," Nick admitted, glancing at his partner, "Bunnies, using first names as titles, I should've _known_. So tell me, Carrots, does this canonize the good Felix as Saint _Oswald_ , and put him above reproach, or is he as fallible as the rest of us mere mortals?"

She shrugged the smug and returned to a semi-professional demeanor, " _No_ one is above reproach, but for the time being we'll say that Felix Lapis has a lot of credit to his name, thus deserves the benefit of the doubt."

"So, by your logic, I should not harbor even a _shadow_ of a doubt going into this investigation," he smirked.

"And that's why we work so well together," grinned Judy.

Gideon remained quiet, trying his hardest not to involve himself in brewing police business - any more than he already was, at least. He was curious about something, though, and turned to address Judy when Nick barked out, "Wait," and stared at the mile-count sign for "Bunnyburrow", "Horseshire", and "Preds' Corner" as they passed the turn-off to the hospital, "Pred's Corner is _plural_ possessive? All this time I thought it was _singular_ possessive," and sat back in his seat in a momentary daze, "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

And with that, Gideon's thought process whisked away as he and Judy exchanged a glance, "Be-… cause they sound the same?" he suggested with a hidden chuckle.

"'Preds' Corner'... 'Pred's Corner'..." Nick enunciated, "It's a good thing I never wrote it down, that could have been embarrassing."

"There are more pressing matters than apostrophe placement," Judy pointed out, even though she, too, could not help but choke back a snicker, "Jaywalkers, to name one."

"Oh!" said the stouter fox.

"Bangs has a cause to fight for: jaywalkers!" Nick swooped in.

"N-no," and turned back to Judy, "Okay, so, _how_ does the Night Howler cause the, umm…" and with a grand twiddling of his fingers and tripping over his words, "Ya'know, the _thing_ , the scream-to-death, how's it 'roundabout' do it?"

Judy didn't bother correcting him, since she certainly knew what he was trying to say and speaking about it so soon after nearly breaking down about its specific possibility was, to her, commendable. "I will begin by saying that there is _no_ precedence for the death-shriek; it is mired in myth and hearsay. That said my personal experience with it is, unfortunately, compromised by the fact that it's all part of a faded dream. However, I can say with some certainty - based mostly on intuition - that while a physically healthy individual _can_ be scared-to-death, the death-shriek comes not from a willingness to die, but an unwillingness to live."

"In modern terms, clinically depressed," Nick added, "Which this Night Howler drug either induces or magnifies."

"I'm thinking the latter," she postulated, "Long term depression isn't simply feeling sad or solely a chemical imbalance, those things are part of it, yes, but just as important is someone's life experience, even a cascade of things that makes it harder to live with oneself. Now, I'm going to step into some crazy territory, but with everything that's happened this weekend-"

"We're foxes, Jude, 'crazy' is what we do," said Gideon.

She blinked, and flashed a smile at the thought of his statement, "Alrighty, here goes: the attendees of the pie-eating contest tomorrow _won't_ be random, I think they might be bunnies suffering from depression."

"If that's the case," Nick pondered, "Then they were either invited or coerced into attending."

"Maybe they were promised a cure for their depression, or even an illness they might have?" suggested Judy.

"Too obvious and not coercive enough," he answered, "It'd need to be something more than, 'Come out to the country for fresh air and a miracle cure; stuff your face with pies, you'll feel loads better!'. If we are dealing with the depressed, it'll need to be something that is an immediate, 'Yes, this solves my problem' kind of deal."

"On that note, the depression would need to be real enough to affect them, but not so crippling that those bunnies can't hop a train and head out to the TBR, even willing to go through the expense and hassle to do so."

"What if they were paid to go?" suggested Gideon, "All expenses, like the Caribouan Cruise?"

"Even then," replied Nick, "Free trips and grand prizes all go into their junk mail folder or the trash bin, it'd be another offer amongst dozens that they'd ignore."

"Unless they _couldn't_ ignore it," Judy said with a wag of her finger, "Finding depressed bunnies shouldn't be _too_ difficult if someone has enough resources, especially if they're on some kind of medication for it, from there it'd be easy pickings."

Nick mulled this over, "It sounds like Hexward is more and more culpable, but something bugs me about it. If a bunch of bunnies keel over from a single event, any rookie cop with half-a-brain could find out that they're taking the same medication from the same drug company. There are bread crumbs _all_ over the place here."

"And I know how you feel about 'bread crumbs'," she recalled.

"What's so bad about bread crumbs?" asked a confused Gideon.

"Oh, he means 'clues', not literal bread crumbs."

"I _know_ he means 'clues', Jude, but why's it so bad that they're 'all over the place'? How else are you gonna solve a mystery without clues?"

"In my youth, I made the mistake of assuming that I was the smartest mammal in the room at all times," Nick began, "This worked fine until it didn't and it expl-…" he paused and flared his nostrils, "it _exploded_ in my face with a lot collateral damage. Nowadays, I operate under the assumption that everyone is _not_ a moron - I'm often proven wrong in that regard, but in _this_ set of circumstances, I refuse to believe the mastermind behind all this would allow such an easy thread to hang in the wind."

Judy rubbed her chin, "It sounds to me like Felix Lapis is moving down on your list of prime suspects."

"He's still sitting pretty in slot number two," smirked Nick with a waggling pair of fingers, and to his partner's querying eyes, "Magnus Hopps holds claim as my prime suspect. To start, I remember hearing that you can determine a parent's character by how their children behave; exhibit 'A': Grav and the prosecution rests. This is in contrast with Oswald Lapis, to whom a powerful, governing body of rabbits bestowed what I can only describe as the 'Bunny of the Century' award. Of these powerful, influential mammals, it doesn't take a master detective to pick out the more willing to sacrifice bunny lives for personal gain."

"So… we have the CEO of Zootopia's biggest drug company," Gideon recalled, counting off on a finger, "And the CEO of… I guess the biggest food processor in Zootopia?"

"Hopps Farm Fresh is definitely in the running," reported Judy, "They pull from farms all over the Tri-Burrows, though."

"So… they both have a lot of money to throw around?" Gideon continued, "Mr. Lapis - I mean - _Felix_ Lapis already sent all of Preds' Corner on that cruise, maybe he could cover food and lodging for a bunch of depressed bunnies for a weekend?"

"Something still doesn't seem right about that," Nick grumped, "All the bunnies that ever were will be in Bunnyburrow for the next week or so, but that doesn't mean they all _want_ to go. Carrots, would it be safe to assume that there are bunnies, maybe depressed ones in the city, which might stay home rather than go through the effort of heading out to the country?"

"A safe assumption, yes," she affirmed, "I say it's a reunion for bunnies everywhere, but even at a ninety-nine percent rate of attendance, that's still _thousands_ of absent bunnies. What's on your mind?"

Nick pointed to Gideon, "Something Bangs here mentioned. Finance is one of the more common reasons for depression, right? Bills piling up, rent's due, tax collectors breaking down your door, charities calling during dinner to ask if you'll continue your support. But what if," he continued, that fiery, crazy look in his eyes that Judy always enjoyed seeing when his mind worked its magic, "What if something comes along, an anonymous text or email with a specific dollar amount and instructions: go to the TBR, find the yellow-striped tent, have yourself a slice of pie and all your money troubles go away; 'We'll be watching'."

Gideon rubbed his arms, "Ooh, that gave me goosepimples…"

"Something like this will take a lot of capital to pull off, wouldn't it?" he pressed, "And while I'm sure Saint Oswald might have it handy, he _did_ just send an entire town on vacation, and if Hexward is as straight as you say it is (which I am willing to trust you on, Carrots), then another expense of that magnitude couldn't go unnoticed. So, let's continue with Magnus Hopps: he could also have the capital to pay off outstanding debts, even if all he did was forward half of what they owed to further entice his victims. I'm sure the poor, unfortunate souls would bend over backwards to get that easy money."

"And something like 'Go to the TBR' is just inane yet simple enough that it wouldn't be too suspicious to someone who really needs the cash," Judy added, "Going out on a limb here, but they might assume it's connected with a reality show or something. And let's say _half_ of them get wise to easy money or aren't desperate enough to make the trip (which might also be paid for), talking sheer statistics, there should be enough depressed bunnies not only in the Tri-Burrows but all of Zootopia that there's _plenty_ of test subjects for the Night Howler drug, even if it's only a half-dozen."

Gideon's arms were crossed and jaw jut forward, softly humming, "All those bread crumbs… since Magnus has a spotless record like you say, Jude, I bet he would use Hexward to take the fall, wouldn't he?"

"Dang it, Carrots, I don't have _any_ 'Junior Detective' stickers on me," grinned Nick, to which he deserved a _very_ mature raspberry from his cousin. "It actually brings me to my final point: that list of depressed bunnies could very well be used to find potential candidates for this field test of a new drug, whether for the street or the pharmacy, but there was something I heard decades ago, a whispered name that has since fallen into obscurity if for no other reason than it's how life works in cases like this."

"What're you getting at, Slick?"

He scoffed and smirked, "So impatient, but since you're going to pull the rug out from under me I'll skip the transitional suspense. Carrots, what do you know about 'Aunt Clea'?"

A faint glint sparked in Judy's eyes, "She's - or at least she _used_ to be - a psychiatrist, I thought, but is since retired."

Nick's sly grin was one she saw on either he or Esther as if they stood untouched amidst a tempest; it filled Judy with fear and awe whenever she witnessed it. "There was a name I heard whispered in dark alleys of the Conifer District back when I was but a kit. The adults and wayward youths said it in hushed tones, and my own parents told me that it was not a name to say out loud because it could draw unwanted questions as to how _you_ came to hear it. Now, it may simply be a coincidence, but I do not idly ignore the weaves of a spider's web," he continued, voice lowered as he addressed the rapt attention of his passengers, "A name I _never_ thought I would need to know until tonight, when I realized it coincides with the urban legend of Bertie Briar if only by a difference in time of a few months: Dr. Cleopatra Lapis."


	10. Chapter 10

_Peer back, brave ones, to younger years_

 _When only boogies summed one's fears_

 _And the innocent b'lieved the just_

 _Before they knew of broken trust_

* * *

"Who's Dr. Cleopatra Lapis?"

John Wilde sat at his kitchen table, in his house in Conifer District, staring at his eight-year-old son Nicky and those bright, green, curious eyes of his. "Umm…" elaborated the older fox, sweeping the otherwise empty kitchen and hallway for his mate, Jackie, since she answered these questions far better than him. With as much composure afforded him in his bathrobe, John ignored his tea to fold one paw over the other, and then switched them the other way around before smiling calmly to his son, "I… _heard_ she works with predators that are a bit… well, a bit 'bad'. Where'd you hear the name, Nickster?"

"Tyler Pounceski at school said his uncle went to go see Dr. Lapis," Nicky reported, leaning up so his small paws gripped the edge of the table, recognizing when his Dad knew something really cool because his ears pointed straight up, "What does she do with bad preds?" Nicky's Dad always had the best answers, especially when he didn't really know, that's why he waited until Mom wasn't in the room to ask them (because she gave boring answers, like "I don't know, sweetie, but let's find out together.") The kit's bushy tail swayed over his pajama bottoms as he watched his Dad's eyes roll up and then to one side, hesitate, and then roll to the _other_ side, which meant it was going to be an _amazing_ answer. Nicky rose up onto his toes and his tail wagged faster when his Dad put his fingers together under his nose, and then when he tapped his pointer fingers together… Oooh, he hoped Mom brushed her teeth _all night_ , because it was going to be one of _those_ answers!

John sat up. It'd been a long day, a long _month_ in the suit shop after those porcupines needed modifications to accommodate their quills, and his poor paws were about to fall off one knuckle at a time. Were it _his_ shop, John wouldn't need to fix the mistakes of the tailor he "apprenticed" under. But… he couldn't say 'no' to Nicky, not when his eyes shone like they did with youthful, innocent curiosity. With a sigh, John gestured a sore paw to one of the kitchen table chairs, which Nicky eagerly hopped into; egad, when did he get so big? Of course, the kit was kneeling up in the chair, but it seemed only yesterday that he still needed hoisting onto a phonebook to see over the top of the table… John leaned back in his chair so that he balanced on the rear legs. Jackie would flay him alive for doing that in front of Nicky, but it wouldn't compare to what she'd do to him if she knew the subject matter of their conversation. Well, she was upstairs, and Nicky was already eight, so it wouldn't hurt to tell a _little_ bit about "Dr. Cleopatra Lapis…

"There isn't a lot known about her," said the older fox, bracing a knee against the edge of the table to keep his balance, "only what's heard from the 'bad preds' that saw her. Rather odd, wouldn't you say?" To this, Nicky nodded vigorously. "After all, the results of her work, mysterious as it is, are undeniable. Some of the _baddest_ criminals - only the predators, though - go to see her, and come back a little worse for the wear but… they _are_ much nicer. Do you remember Mrs. Okami a few streets down? _She_ got in trouble because she was violent when the city tried to take her pups away last year. Well, instead of locking her away, they sent her to go see Dr. Lapis for a few days, and not only did she get to go home afterwards but they also let her keep her pups."

Nicky was in awe at first, but then his eyes fell to the top of the table and his brow furrowed as he sat back on his ankles. Sitting up once more, "But, Dad," he doubted, "it sounds like Dr. Lapis does really, _really_ good stuff, so why's she so mysterious? Mr. Lapis makes my fox-flu medicine, and _everyone_ knows about _him_." He then gasped as a thought crossed his mind, looked around before leaning over the table to whisper, "Is she like Mrs. Foxglove? Does Dr. Lapis secretly save Zootopia, too?"

Bless his little heart and that puerile grin. Nicky was always sly with his questions, which he got from his mother, of course; John doubted _he_ helped any in that regard. The older fox glanced about with hooded eyes, gently stroking his jaw in that way he knew made Nicky's eyes go even _wider_ with wonder. "Well…" John drew out, letting the gentle creak of his chair punctuate the silence and so bring his son up onto his little toes, "I wouldn't deny there are… _some_ parallels." Nicky nearly leapt onto the table, but his father's palm shot up and guided him back into his seat with a pushing gesture. John continued forward until the front legs of his chair connected with the kitchen floor, thus allowing his elbow to rest on the tabletop as he wove his fingers together, and gave his son a sly grin. Nicky was squatting on the chair now, paws holding the table's edge for dear life, and though his snout was beneath and out of sight, his smile spread up the cheeks and to the eyes (and his tail gave a thorough brushing to the back of his chair). "Why," continued John, "what if Mr. Lapis worked with Dr. Lapis, in secret?" he poised.

Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove were, of course, _the_ coolest _ever_ , but to think that there were bunnies just like them? Nicky could hardly contain himself!

"Now, this is _very_ important, Nicky," he said with a single raised finger, the others held in a loose loop with his thumb, "Dr. Lapis is _not_ the type of doctor you see twice a year for a check-up, or go to when you have a cold. She's a doctor you only see _once_ ," he warned, paw closing into a fist but keeping his index high, and his son lifted his head and splayed his ears back, the excitement in his eyes shifting from gleeful to trepidatious (but still excitement all the same) as that finger slowly lowered in Nicky's direction, which, likewise, lowered the kit's tail, "and you can count yourself properly sly if you never, _ever_ see her."

"Never see _who_ , John?" asked Jackie, a.k.a., Mom, whose uncanny ability to simply appear in parts of the house without a sound of announcement helped hone the reactions of her two favorite foxes in the world. She stood in the doorway from the hall to the kitchen, arms crossed nonchalantly over her own bathrobe.

Both father and son froze, gazes locked across the table from each other, until John pivoted his head slowly with a relaxing smile, the ironclad finger he pointed slipping into a loose, wheeling gesture. "Oh… well, it was more of a general-"

"Who shouldn't we see, Nicky?"

"A… doctor…?" the kit tried, but he didn't doubt that a wooden spoon had his tail's name on it if he wasn't super careful about how he answered (his Mom could smell a lie from down the block, he was sure of it). Mom's feet were always so quiet, that even though he watched her walk over to the table and then behind his chair, he didn't even hear her claws click on the tile, not like Dad's did. Even so, when she disappeared past his field of vision, such that he would need to crane his neck to see her, Nicky could still feel her presence looming over him. He once more looked at his Dad, who looked back, and then Dad's eyes flicked up, so Nicky _knew_ Mom was directly behind him, and his tail curled about his hunkered legs in attempts to shrink under the table.

"A ' _doctor'_ , you say," Jackie calmly repeated, paws on the corners of the back of her son's chair, letting her petite physique lean against it with only the faintest whisper from its framework. When the silence settled in the room, Nicky affirmed her with a soft nod and grunt, to which the vixen continued her way around his chair, fingertips dragging along the chair's back, letting her footfall at last make poignant clicks of her claws, "Could this possibly be… Evil Dr. _Porkchop_?" she declared, and wrapped her paws around Nicky's sides in a flurry of merciless tickles, leaning in to nibble at his neck as he writhed and shrieked with uncontrollable mirth. John joined in with a hearty laugh of his own as their son suffered the jovial assault.

"No, Mom!" Nicky finally managed after a lungful of air, standing on his chair as his Mom hugged him with a contented trill, a cheek of hers pressed to his, he still heaving and weakly flailing in attempts to be freed, "Dr. Porkchop's a 'him', not a 'her'!"

"Oh, is he?" Jackie asked, and busied herself with smoothing her kit's fur, "Well then, I suppose if it's not Evil Dr. Porkchop, then whatever ' _general'_ doctor you do or not ever see matters only if, as your father said, you count yourself as 'properly sly'. Yes?" With another affirmation from Nicky, this one brighter and louder, she leaned in and presented her cheek, "Now, kiss me good night," to which Nicky dutifully did, "And the other," presenting her other cheek, and he dutifully did once more. Cradling his chin in her dainty fingers, she touched their noses together and then gave his belly a gentle tickle, "Go brush your teeth, I can still smell the blueberries you had for dessert. Your father will be up in a bit to tuck you in."

Nicky giggled and hopped down from the chair to scamper out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and up the stairs. Jackie sighed and smiled as she watched him, before turning to her mate, standing adjacent and leaning against the table.

"He heard about Dr. Lapis from a classmate at school today," John reported, voice low, but was cut off by Jackie's finger at his lips.

"No time to dally, John, our son needs tucking in, first," she stated loudly and clearly, triggering the continued scamper of tiny paws up the full flight of stairs with the telltale creak near the top. "Dr. _Cleopatra_ Lapis?" hushed Jackie with agitated dread after leaning in and removing her finger.

"No, the _other_ 'correctional' doctor from pred-therapy," John snarked, and they both huffed, "I didn't tell him anything, but he drew the conclusion that she and Felix Oswald Lapis are some… rabbit version of Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove."

Jackie couldn't help but smirk and roll her eyes, " _That_ would be awkward," she said, with a grimace to match the inclination, "I was hoping he wouldn't know about her until at least _twelve_ , but we can't help what he hears at school. Who did he hear it from, do you know?"

"From Pounceski's cub. I think it was his Uncle Xander."

"Oh!" Jackie gasped, a paw over her mouth, "No wonder Susanna was so upset…"

John gently rubbed her arm, "On a lighter note, Nicky's really taken to making those popsicles how I showed him," he said with a smile, hoping the levity might help her as he only knew how.

"John," she said patiently, looking him in the face, "You know what Nicky wants more than anything, and all of these hobbies you keep trying with him won't change that."

He frowned and sighed through his nose, "You know why I'm not okay with it."

" _John_ ," she repeated, "I know that you got a bad read from those other kids, but the Junior Ranger Scouts uphold teamwork and inclusion no matter the species, and if you keep holding Nicky back from that he'll grow to resent you, or worse, _distrust_ you."

"I didn't get a 'bad read', Jackie, the kids in that troop looked downright _malicious_ when they saw Nicky, and their parents weren't too fond of _me_ , either."

"That's because you looked at the uniform in the catalog and said, 'I can make that'."

"I'd have added 'better', 'cheaper', and 'easily' if you didn't bushwhack me," he mentioned. Jackie's whacking, bushy tail served to correct the manners and etiquette of her kits, both son and mate alike, but without any precursory movement of her hips it came at no warning to deliver swift maternal (or spousal) edification.

"Well, your tone of voice spoke more than your words could," Jackie berated and wagged a finger, "Nicky _is_ joining that troop in one of _their_ uniforms." She then put her paws to her mate's chest, "Let him belong, John, let him make that decision for himself. You see how happy he gets just thinking about it. Whatever happens, we can deal with it as a family. And I know the uniform is… pricey, but I have some money set aside, and I can take some extra jobs to pay for it."

His arms wrapped around her waist, smirking, "Are you sure I can't make him a uniform? I'd bet my tail that the beat cops around here will be green with envy when they see him walking down the street in it."

She cupped his cheek and brushed her nose and lips to his, "He wants to _belong_ , John, and he can't do that in a better, yet less expensive uniform," to which he finally complied with a kiss. "Now," Jackie said as her mate's face lingered with that adorably stupid grin of his, "go brush your teeth and tuck in our son, I'll be up in the bit."

"Yes'm," he hummed, turning on a heel with a spring in his step, despite his tiredness. Jackie was right of course, she often was, especially on matters like this. Thanks to his profession, John understood that clothes spoke volumes about the mammal wearing them, and for his son to show up in a homemade (granted, _professionally_ crafted, but still homemade) uniform wouldn't be the message Nicky wanted to send. Nicky wanted to join the JRS not only because it would be fun, hone life skills, and he'd be making friends, but somehow the kit got it in his head that if a group of prey accepted him, a _fox_ , that it would be the precursor to the acceptance and trust of foxes everywhere. John used to dream big like that, but nowadays he dreamt only of comfortable clothes, hot tea, big tips, and most of all, the smiling faces of his mate and son, and if that meant choking down his pride, then it didn't even warrant a second thought.

With a quick peek inside his son's bathroom, the older fox spotted the wet sink, the askew toothpaste tube cap, the not fully rinsed toothbrush, a stray length of floss, and the disheveled towel, all signs that an eight-year-old practiced his dental hygiene. Walking across the hall, John pushed the bedroom door open and found, as he expected, a still made bed with no kit inside (yet the bite mark-ridden, re-stitched, re-stuffed, patched mess of a pillow his son never slept without was sitting patiently atop the covers). Nicky was hiding, of course, as he liked to do, and judging by the weight of the door, he was hanging right on the other side, probably with a jump rope looped around the coat hook (since there were no little claws gripping around the top).

"Odd," John announced, and guided the door open completely to make an enclosed triangle with the nearby corner, "My son _should_ be in here somewhere…" His ear flicked at a muffled snicker behind the door, thus confirming his suspicions, much in the same way one needed to confirm the wetness of water. Using his foot to hold the door in place, John reached over to grab a nearby chair he liked to keep in his son's room for story time, and ever-so-quietly wedged it under the knob. "I guess I'll have to wait for him here, then," he said, and flopped onto his son's bed, shins hanging off the end, paws folded behind his head.

The door creaked a bit as Nicky grunted in attempt to push it open, more likely than not for an ambushing pounce, and earned a self-pleased glance from his Dad as the chair held fast. When the gentle scraping of his little claws on wood sounded his attempts at escape, John closed his eyes and awaited the call for assistance. Except no signal of surrender came, so he looked up in time to spot his son leaping through the air from the top of the door in a beautifully executed ambushing pounce. They bounced on the bed in a vulpine tussle, Nicky getting his young teeth into the pelt on his father's arm with playful growling and attempts to impress physical superiority, but the bite was neither strong enough nor his fangs sharp enough to be felt in any threatening manner.

" _Some_ one's been playing with those wolf pups up the way, again," smirked John, looping an arm around his son's waist and rolling to his feet beside the bed, "You're winning, I assume."

Nicky grinned and scoffed (just like Dad does), crossing his arms while dangling in the grip for a casual boast, "Me and Finnick are twenty-seven to their three." When he was sat down on his bed, the kit scurried under the covers and lay himself back, smiling up at the older fox as the sheets and covers were tucked in around him, and his pillow picked up from the ground, brushed off, and nestled next to his head.

"Not picking any fights, I hope," prompted John, dislodging the chair from beneath the doorknob to bring it around for his own sitting pleasure.

"No sir, I'm picking my _battles_ ," responded Nicky.

"That's my boy," he commended with a rub between the kit's ears, and then leaned back in his chair with a foot propped against the side of the bed, cradling his chin in one knuckle, "So, what shall the story be tonight, Nickster? Maybe 'The Trumpeter Gator', or perhaps 'The War of the Ants and the Grasshoppers'?"

"Are there any stories about Dr. Lapis?" Nicky asked in a hushed tone, leaning forward and out of his sheets a bit to smile with anticipation.

It took all of John's willpower not to fall backwards in his chair, and was glad that he, in his usual manner, had hooded his eyes in thought and so only needed to continue that particular demeanor, "Well…" he answered with a doubtful frown, "I know _one_ , but you wouldn't want to hear it…"

The kit's tail was out and swaying as he got onto his knees, pinning his favorite pillow into the bed to beseech his Dad, "I do!" he almost yelped, but remembered that Mom could be in the hall and he wouldn't know it until he saw her, and quieted down, "I _do_ wanna hear it! Please?" he strained.

John gave a "Hmm…" and eyed his son in uncertainty, "I dunno, it's got some stuff I don't think you're old enough for."

"I am, Dad!" he pleaded, brow soon furrowing, "I'm already eight, almost _nine_!"

"Oh, _almost_ nine?" pondered John, his own brow relaxing and even arching high to consider the new information, "Alright, but if I tell you this story," he said and leaned in, urging his son closer by bracing his back and hooking him, even putting up his other paw in secrecy, "Your mother _can't_ know that you heard it, or that I told you, right?"

"Yeah!"

"And I can only tell you this story _once_ , right?"

"Yeah! Yeah!"

"Okay, but I warn you, this story has…" he lifted his head out of the huddle to check the door, and then the window, and then got closer still by wrapping his arm around the younger fox's shoulders, " _Kissing_."

"Eww!" revulsed Nicky, trying to back out of with a reeling motion, lifting his Dad's elbow and falling back onto the bed, sticking out his tongue, "No kissing!"

"C'mon, you're almost _nine_ , Nickster; you're old enough for a kissing story," John assured with an easy smirk, leaning an elbow on a knee to prop up his head.

"No!"

"Many years ago, Dr. Lapis-" he began anyway.

"No! No, Dr. Lapis!"

"Alright," huffed John with a defeated shrug. Worked every time.

"I changed my mind, I wanna hear about Grandpa Pib!" declared the kit, slipping back under the covers, "He's a pirate captain, and _they_ don't kiss!"

Well, not entirely true, but his son didn't need to know that, yet. "Nicky, your grandfather was a _privateer_ ," John corrected, "Do you remember the difference?"

The kit nodded eagerly, "It means he was _like_ a pirate but wasn't a criminal, right?" he beamed, so very, _very_ glad to get away from the terror of… _kissing_.

"That's right," the older fox affirmed, and inwardly sighed in soulful relief to have deterred his son's interest from Dr. Lapis, "Captain Piberius Savage, from whom you get your middle name," that part was important, which either he or Nicky often pointed out, "was one of the finest sailors on the open sea, and the bravest fox in the navy. He'd lost his right eye and right paw, so instead had a _hook_ ," he grinned, and made the shape out of his fingers, "which when used together with his debonair swordplay, the red-furred privateer came to be known as-"

"'The Scarlet Hook', so named for the bloody hook in place of his right paw, which he used to _execute_ his enemies," said Ms. Palmer, an ibex swinging her cloven hoof down on her desk to dramatize the point, thus getting a muted, startled cry from her class of grade-schoolers, "Historically, he is one of the worst pirates to ever sail, and it's considered a favor the world over when he disappeared a hundred years ago. However, in his final act of depravity - the end of that _long_ list of crimes we just went over - Captain Piberius Savage _kidnapped_ a village of innocents, never to be seen again." She leaned against her desk, decorated with anchors and sailboats for the school's Maritime Week.

Ms. Palmer had asked if anyone knew about a famous sailor or sea captain, and Nicky was electric to mention his Grandpa Pib, but after all _that_ , the kit was glad he decided to save the big reveal about being Captain Savage's grandson…

"Thank you, Nicky," said the teacher, and she did sound sincere, "We should always remember that history is filled with both the good _and_ the bad, and Maritime History is no exception." She gave a spirited huff and looked up at the clock as the bell rang for end of class, "That really got away from me, didn't it. Okay, everyone, remember to read chapter seven tonight, and your report is due Friday," she instructed, dismissing her class of rambunctious youth, scurrying about and shoving books and pencils into their backpacks before flooding the hallway. All except Nicky, who approached the teacher's desk as one would the judge's bench.

"Ms. Palmer, did Captain Savage _really_ do all those things?" he asked, hesitant to even mention the name of 'Piberius' in case the teacher linked it back to him.

The ibex smiled consolingly, patiently as she addressed the question, "I know it might come as something of a… a _shock_ , Nicky, but it's true, Captain Savage committed a lot of terrible, _heinous_ crimes," she explained, and looked at the kit in pity, "The fact of the matter is, foxes… don't have the best track record, but it doesn't mean _you_ 're like him, right?"

"Yeah…" frowned the kit, looking down and away with regretful introspection.

Ms. Palmer sighed, but despite her reluctance she asked with all the gentleness she could muster, "Where did you hear about Captain Savage?"

Nicky was always taught to answer an adult's questions honestly (but not to "volunteer information", which meant to not talk about more than what they ask), "My Dad tells me stories about him all the time, but he didn't mention anything about kidnapping or execution…" he lamented, but then grabbed the edge of the desk and rose up on his toes, sly curiosity burning in his eyes, "But what about Montressor? He sailed in after escaping from an exploding volcano, and even saved a crew of mutineers using _their_ half-burnt ship! Or…"

She shook her head and frowned in a mixture of continued pity, but also in peripheral disappointment, "I'm afraid that's all they are, Nicky… stories. Captain Savage was a _pirate_ , and there's no record of anyone sailing into the Montressor Seaport on a half-burned ship that _I_ know of. Maybe someone did that, or something _like_ that in fox history, but in world history? It's simply not there." Ms. Palmer sighed again as the kit returned to rest on his heels, visibly crestfallen, "Listen… your father, John Wilde, right? He's a real nice mammal, easy to like, and I'm sure he 'spins a good yarn'-" she said, trying to alleviate the situation with some sailor lingo.

"No!" Nicky cried, and then continued with his inside voice, "Foxes don't lie to each other, and they don't keep secrets from each other," and stalked out before she could respond. Nicky knew his Dad told stories, but he also knew the difference between stories and lies, and his Dad wouldn't lie to him. Everything he heard about Grandpa Pib was _real_ , Nicky knew it in his heart. He'll ask Dad when he gets home and set things straight.

Out in the hall waited Nicky's best friend ever, Finnick Faire, whose long, sandy ears twitched at the red fox's approach, "Hi Nicky," he said in a high, soft voice, and then in a show of passion that was quite uncommon for him, he balled his tiny paws into fists and gave his pal a determined glare, "I don't care what Ms. Palmer says, _I_ believe you about your Grandpa Pib," and then caught himself, ears going back and head bowing, "I'm sorry, I did it again…"

Nicky looped an arm around the smaller fox's shoulders to usher him down the hallway, "It's okay, Finnick, you weren't eavesdropping, because I was going to tell you anyway," he assured with a bright grin.

"Are you sure…?"

"Absolutely positive!"

"Okay…"

As they skirted around other students fiddling with their lockers or chatting in their herds, Nicky leaned in, "Finnick, what's wrong? You've been sad all day, even though we got pudding at lunch."

The fennec fox shook his head, large ears swaying with a grunt of denial, "No, not here…" he hushed, his ears giving a twitch, "Outside." To this, Nicky nodded, and when they were out in the schoolyard, on the shadier side of the building (and Finnick was certain no one else was within earshot), he hugged his knees and stared at the ground. "D'you remember a few days ago, when Tyler said his uncle went to see…" he gulped, and whispered, " _Dr. Lapis_? I didn't mean to, but I heard some of the neighbors talking and I think they're gonna take my Dad to see her, too…"

Nicky frowned, "Was he yelling again?" Mr. Faire's voice was _way_ bigger than him and he was always mad about something, ever since he lost his mate (according to Nicky's Mom). Finnick sniffed and nodded, tail curling a bit tighter around his ankles. Nicky scooted in a bit closer, and gave his best comforting smile, "It'll be okay, because my Dad told me that when preds go see Dr. Lapis, they come back _better_."

"Really?" asked the smaller fox, lifting his head to his best friend with a sad, yet hopeful sheen in his eyes, and wiped them both on the back of his wrist, "What's gonna happen to my Dad?"

"I don't know," Nicky shrugged, "no one does, except the preds that go see her. They come back a 'little worse for the wear', but remember Mr. Lapis? He and Dr. Lapis save the city in _secret_ , just like Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove."

Finnick gasped, and pivoted in his seat to face his friend a little more, "Dr. Lapis is like Mrs. Foxglove?" he asked, the corners of his mouth curling up only the slightest bit.

Nicky nodded and smiled, "I _think_ so anyway. She fixes bad preds, and if she's with Mr. Lapis, then she's gotta be a bunny, so you know she's nice. And it'll only be for a few days, so if they _do_ come for your dad, you can stay with us until he comes back, okay?"

The large-eared fox smiled in relief and gratitude, looking at his toes wiggling on the ground, "Thanks, Nicky."

"If we foxes don't look out for each other, who will, right?"

* * *

"Right," said Judy Hopps, leaning against the van's passenger door, a leg propped up on the seat as she cradled an elbow in one paw, and tapped her cheek with the other, "that actually connects a few things: she and Uncle Magnus have been mated for as least as long as I've been alive, and Felix Oswald Lapis _is_ her brother - older brother, I think - so you certainly could've heard that name back when you were a kit, Nick, which would also explain why the name 'Dr. Cleopatra Lapis' dropped into obscurity since it changed to 'Mrs. Clea Hopps', and if I remember my metropolitan history, Hexward's popularity skyrocketed at around that time, too."

Gideon Grey turned to the adjacent rabbit with a quirk of his brow, "That would make your Uncle Magnus a brother-in-law of Hexward's CEO," he said, though made no effort to obscure the accusatory tone in his voice.

Judy tossed a thumb over her shoulder, "Listen, if you've got a week we can head back to my place and I'll summarize the Hopps family tree for you, and maybe in a month we can map out what sort of connections they all could have in modern day-"

" _Pass_."

She smirked, "Thoughts, Nick?"

"What about, the coincidence a psychopath's mate is a shrink and also blood-related to the head of _the_ major drug company of Zootopia, or the mind-numbingly expansive reach of bunny families that no one seems to notice?" Nick asked in attempts to narrow down his partner's line of questioning, "Because we'll run out of gas before I get the chance to cover both."

"Either-or, but let's start with the former," decided Judy, the smirk almost reaching her ear at this point, but returned to a professional level of lip-curling as she continued, "At a glance, Aunt Clea has or had access to information on bunnies prescribed anti-depressants, and from there could build a roster of potential 'candidates'," she air-quoted, "with relative ease."

"What I can remember from my dubiously reliable 8-year-old brain, 'Dr. Lapis' was involved with making 'bad preds good'," added Nick, likewise air-quoting around the steering wheel, "which leads me to believe she was somehow involved with pred-therapy before it was illegalized. The fact that she was never mentioned or even alluded to during that whole PredaTherp debacle twelve years ago _would_ be a point in her favor…" he prompted.

" _Except_ strong connections like Felix Lapis and Uncle Magnus might've earned her some protection during all that," responded Judy, "A psychiatrist would be invaluable to pred-therapy if they're meant to return to society, like small-time offenders or the mentally disturbed."

Gideon frowned, "D'you think she was involved with _my_ pred-therapy?"

The taller fox shook his head, "I doubt it, even though yours was four years before that whole thing happened, unless they went through the effort of transporting one kit into the city from the even _boonier_ boondocks Preds' Corner was back then. No, if anything it would be quieter to bring you somewhere secluded and remote, which Bunnyburrow has _lots_ of potential for."

"Agreed," said Judy, "The only other place that wouldn't draw suspicion would be Cliffside Asylum, but _that's_ bordering Meadowlands, about as far from Bunnyburrow as you can get while still in Zootopia."

"Oh, I heard about that place on the news, it's where Lionheart kept the preds before the pred-scare," Gideon remembered.

"The very same, Bangs," Nick affirmed, "Maybe _this_ time they'll actually tear the place down before anyone _else_ thinks about caging mammals there again."

The stouter fox crossed his arms in thought, "I remember the day they bussed me off, and best I can figure it was a long trip."

"The 'best you can figure'?" Judy inquired.

"It was early in the morning and I fell back asleep, which was weird, but when I woke up again I was inside, so I don't even know what time of day it was."

Nick's ear flicked, "You fell back asleep?"

"Yeah, weird, right?"

"Why 'weird'?" Judy further inquired.

"According to Esther, Bangs here doesn't fall back asleep, never did."

"I sleep like a rock, but once I'm up, I'm up," Gideon explained, "Ever since I was a kit."

The rabbit's nose twitched, "It sounds like you were drugged. Did the bus have transparent windows?"

"Err…" he paused, thinking back, "Yeah, because I looked out at Ma and Pa as I left…"

Nick hummed, thumbs drumming the steering wheel he loosely but securely gripped, "Why hide the location from a twelve-year-old, though? Back when I was a kit, word was that pred-therapy, though traumatic, was an alternative to a long stint in jail or prison, and as I mentioned earlier today, a death sentence for extreme cases."

"Stretch, not to punch a hole in your theory, but my pred-therapy was a bit more than 'traumatic'," Gideon air-quoted, "The only thing I remember from it was Lenny, everything else is a big ol' cloud of nightmares."

"I feel like I walked in on the middle of a movie," Judy muttered, and sat up to inquire once more, "Who's Lenny?"

"Can neither confirm nor deny," Nick said before Gideon had a chance to answer, "'Lenny' may or may not be a coping mechanism for young Gideon to survive pred-therapy."

"He was a lion cub I shared a cell with," Gideon elaborated, "At least I think he was, but since I have a history of imagining lions, as I grew up I figured he was also imagined."

Judy gave this a second of thought, "Is _that_ why you were so accepting of Nurse Wild's help, because you thought he was this long-lost friend from pred-therapy?"

"Honestly, I was grateful he _wasn't_ ," Gideon admitted, "I did a good job convincing myself that he didn't exist, otherwise it meant someone else went through the same thing _I_ did, and I just couldn't accept that it all really happened. Ya'know… even with the scars."

" _I_ was accepting of his help because I thought he was a passerby that could get the van out of a ditch without asking too many questions," Nick reported, and hummed again as his train of thought returned to a previous track, "Which I suppose if either Goliath or Ruth started doing, young Gideon wouldn't be able to say anything about the facility, and with them living so far from the city, the unspoken name of 'Dr. Lapis' never reached them. In the short amount of time I knew about adult predators coming back from Dr. Lapis, not a one of them could tell _where_ they were when it happened." He stopped and leaned to the side, reaching into his pocket to pull out his buzzing, ringing phone, quickly glanced at the screen before handing it across Gideon to Judy, "Answer that, please."

Gideon glimpsed at the call, "Who's 'Daddy's Little Destroyer of Worlds'?"

"Ah, that would Finnick," smiled Judy, accepting the phone and holding it out to use the speaker function. Gideon's eyebrows arched in recognition towards Nick's comfortably smiling face as he recalled the name from an earlier conversation, coincidentally, _also_ when Nick was driving. "Hiya, Finnick!" announced Judy, reaching up and affixing the phone to a dashboard holder in the baker's van, "Long time, no hear; what's up?"

"Oh, hey Judy," came a deep, yet gentle voice that belied ferocity in the same way a still pond belied the presence of crocodiles, "Where're you at? Is Nick with ya'?"

"He's here," she replied sweetly, "driving at the moment."

"Hey Nick," and there was that ferocity hinting itself, much as a drifting log in the pond was not _actually_ a log. Gideon was not dumb to inclinations of the sort, and gave the taller fox a worried frown, but Nick simply smiled and put a finger to his own lips, "I heard you're in Bunnyburrow for the weekend. How's that come about?"

"Finnick, what an absolute delight to hear from you," chimed Nick, "You see, Judy here dragged me along to some family reunion, and I thought I'd stir up trouble while I'm in town. What's new in _your_ neck of the woods?"

"It-" began Finnick, paused, and then spoke simply, "Who else with you?"

Gideon nearly jumped in his seat, "Uh, hi," he said before either covert operations specialist could stop him, even leaning in towards the phone a bit, "I'm Gideon Grey, Nick's cousin, and I've known Judy since grade school."

"No kidding. I thought I heard a third set of lungs over there," came the voice over the phone, another pregnant pause, and then an option for the face-to-face call service of MuzzleTime popped up without warning, and perhaps reflexively, Gideon pushed the green accept button. Suffice to say, neither Nick nor Judy were quick enough to stop him. "Well now, lookit you," said Finnick, dressed in a sharp suit and sitting on a fine sofa, a sandy-furred fennec fox with the ears to match his species, and eyes the color of a creamy caramel; he laughed, though not at anyone in particular, "I didn't think you had family out in the country, Pawps."

The stouter fox smirked at a patient Nick, "'Pops'," he repeated, snickered, and then nudged him with an elbow.

"Yeah, because he loved making those 'Pawpsicles' when we were kits," grinned Finnick.

"Alright, Sunny," Nick grinned right back, to which Gideon turned to Judy with a nudging elbow and repeated, "Sonny" in a continued snicker, "We can shoot the breeze all night, but talking on the phone while driving _is_ frowned upon by Zootopian traffic law, and we've an upstanding officer nearby that won't abide such delinquency," he explained.

"I'll be short, then," said Finnick, to muffled snickers from Gideon, "I was finishing up my night job and thought I'd check in, see what you were up to. Thought we go out for burgers, but I can see you're busy. Stay sly, brothers, don't do anything I wouldn't do," and ended the call.

The van was somber save for Gideon's waning laughter, when he finally realized his was the only merriment of the three. He folded his paws in his lap and tapped his thumbs together as Nick focused on driving, no longer grinning, and Judy seemed deep in thought. "So…" began the stouter fox, "I got a hunch that wasn't a casual call?"

"Not as such," Nick began, "I rather wish you let either Carrots or I do the talking, but it is what it is."

"I think it was a good thing Finnick saw Gideon," suggested Judy, "He said 'brothers', so his message was meant for you both."

"Wait, _me_?" asked Gideon, gesturing to the phone, "but I only heard about this fox _tonight_."

"He knows your face, though, which is telling," Nick pointed out, "Interestingly enough, he's also seen my Dad recently; I would recognize one of his suits anywhere."

Her ears sprung, tense as steel, "Oh biscuits," huffed Judy, "This is worse than I thought."

"Guys," Gideon fretted, pointing to himself, "I don't think I can handle another nervous breakdown today, so stop dancing around pretending I should know what you're talking about, and jus' come out and say it."

"Long and short of it," Nick said, "Finnick and I developed a code for talking over the phone, and he waved _all_ the red flags in that conversation. When he said 'night job', he meant he just got off the darknet-"

"The _what_?" asked Gideon.

Judy held up her paws as though on top of different shelf heights to succinctly elaborate, "There's the Internet that everyone knows about, and beneath that is the 'darknet' where black market and other secret transactions take place. Finnick knows how to traverse it, and though he doesn't _use_ it for anything illegal, he keeps his ear to it - in a manner of speaking - to track market flow."

"When he said, 'I'll be short', he ironically meant that he wasn't joking, _at all_ ," Nick continued, and held up a finger to further explain a point, "The significance of my father's suit, you ask? John Wilde is one of the most prolific tailors in the city; the _whole_ city. One of the most successful? Maybe, but I've heard that some of his clients can _hear_ or _smell_ his suits from a block away. One client, to the best of my envious knowledge, is one of the most feared crime bosses in Tunrdatown: Mr. Big. I happen to know he wore one of my father's suits for his daughter's wedding."

"In fact," added Judy, "It's my understanding that when he inducts someone into his company, he gifts them with a suit. Were I male, I'm sure he would gifted me in the same manner." Gideon looked back and forth between them, and if his frown could fall off his jaw, it would have.

"Carrots, slap him if he loses it again," Nick instructed, sparing a grin, "Kisses will only encourage such unfoxlike behavior."

Gideon glanced at Judy, and then immediately addressed Nick, whispering as though it might matter, "Did Judy kiss me again?" With the return of Judy's glower, Nick widened that grin and tapped the right side of his snout, right behind the nose, to which the stouter fox's ears burned a radiant red.

"Maybe I should slap you both," warned Judy, "Anyway, I'm the godmother to Mr. Big's grandchild because I saved his daughter's life. Now, Gid," she continued in a professorial tone, "can you tell me why the suit is significant?"

"Oh," he responded, returning to the topic at hand with his ears back and fingers twiddling, "Right, umm… Finnick was wearing one of Uncle John's suits, so that means that… he prob'ly works for Mr. Big, now," Gideon reasoned.

Nick continued, "Do you remember when I talked about the skunk butt rug, Bangs? That's what got me on Mr. Big's naughty list, but it's not as funny as I lead you to believe," he sighed and watched as the town proper of Bunnyburrow loomed in sight, "It _was_ , at first, and Finnick opposed the whole thing from the start, which brings us to the last red flag: 'don't do anything I wouldn't do'. He tells me that _only_ when he thinks I'm in danger, and from the sounds of it, his information came from the darknet itself and all that entails," he huffed quietly, "It seems I've brought you into this with me, Bangs… so for that, you have my deepest apologies."

Gideon was silent as they pulled up to the first stoplight, but he wasn't in shock this time, simply clapping his knees, alternating from one palm to the next. "At least you're honest about it, Stretch, so thanks for letting me know," he said after a long breath, "Like I keep saying, I'm not made of steel like you both, but you're being patient with me and helping me get through this, which I'm super grateful for. Truth be told, if it weren't for you two, I'd be waltzing to my death tomorrow and none the wiser. At least now I know someone's got my back."

Judy grinned, "If we foxes don't look out for each other, who will, right?"


	11. Chapter 11

_Return, brave ones, to younger years_

 _But roll forward time's whims'cal gears_

 _To a night intended for mirth_

 _And find out how much trust is worth_

* * *

Tonight was the night. Nicky's mom Jackie had scraped together enough money for a brand new Junior Ranger Scouts uniform, not from a secondhand shop but ordered out of the catalog, fresh from the packaging, delivered to their doorstep in the Conifer District. She was busy all the time to buy that uniform, and Nicky helped out every chance he could, whenever he could, whether it was washing dishes, or vacuuming, or sweeping, things she wouldn't have to do herself. They worked together to get that uniform. Nicky and his dad John found a Junior Ranger Scouts handbook at a used-book store. Together, they went through the handbook page-by-page, reading about how to tie knots, the safe plants in the wilderness, dressing wounds, and the importance of helping out in the community. He would be ready for _any_ thing the JRS threw at him; he was pretty much _born_ ready.

Tonight was the night. Nicky was off down the street, sometimes running and sometimes jogging, careful to only take the shortcuts that wouldn't mess up his uniform. He turned the corner and spotted the red fire hydrant, and then the stone steps leading up to where Troop 914 held their meetings. And there, up in the darkening sky Nicky's keen, green eyes spotted something that lifted his spirits even _higher_ , so much so it gripped him in wonder. He saw a pair of shooting stars cross in the sky, and knew what he had to do. Nicky crossed his fingers and closed his eyes, wishing with all his heart that he would be trusted. There, that sealed the deal. Maybe prey gave him sideways glances as parents held their kids a little closer when he and _his_ parents walked by, but all that ended tonight. Even though he practically ran all the way from home, he vaulted up the steps to join his new friends.

Tonight was the night. Nicky ran out of the meeting mere minutes after he ran in, but instead of a hat he wore a muzzle. The other kids shined a bright light in his sensitive eyes and pinned him down, even though he took the oath to be trustworthy, because they couldn't trust a fox without a muzzle. They said so themselves. Shocked and scared, he yanked it off to throw it away with all his strength, but then huddled beside the stone steps beneath the glowing marquee sign and wept. What did he do? What did he do to deserve their hatred? He worked hard to get that uniform. He learned the handbook cover-to-cover. He delivered the oath. He _wished_ for it. What more _could_ he do to earn their trust?

Could he not _be_ trusted? Nicky looked up at the sky where the falling stars had been, and pleaded in silence for an answer, but silence was all the answer he got. He couldn't sit there all night, so Nicky picked himself up and looked about, first up the stairs; the laughing prey kids were probably still down in that room, reveling in their victory. He then looked to the muzzle sitting on the sidewalk, the metal cage that held his snout was pointed at him, leering at him, mocking him, "Who could trust a _fox_?" it seemed to scoff. Nicky gave it a wide berth and scampered back home.

His tears had dried by the time he got to his backdoor, taking the shortcuts he knew would get him home faster, even if it meant his uniform got a bit dirty. A small paw hovered over the doorknob leading to the kitchen, frozen in place when he heard his parents talking inside. Nicky leaned in and carefully put his ear to the door…

"I must admit, it's a surprise to see you on such short notice, Chester," said Mom, "Tea?"

"Extraordinary circumstances, Jackie, and please," said someone important sounding, who Nicky could only guess was "Chester", "There are more than a few clients positively _eager_ to see John here out from under that doddering old tailor."

"Cut him some slack, Chess, I hear he was stellar back in his prime," said Dad, "and he kept saying I was his favorite apprentice, so he might've left me the shop when he kicked the bucket."

"Which, as with most of his work, he's taking his sweet time doing," Chester said with a dark but jolly chuckle, "Out of curiosity, John, are you decided on a name for your new shop? I find it helps quicken this whole, dreadfully _dull_ process," and then there was a rustling of papers.

Nicky knew he did, he talked about it since forever, and always seemed happier when he did because his voice would get high and he'd hold out his palms with his fingers spread in all directions, and then he'd stare off into space, "Suitopia," Dad would say, and did say to Chester, earning another jolly chuckle.

"Oh, Nicky's going to be _so_ happy when he hears about this," said Mom, and Nicky felt a weight on his heart like when she caught him sneaking cookies or when he broke her favorite dish.

"Yes, how _is_ young Mr. Wilde?" asked Chester, "Do you suppose he might follow you as a tailor? Bright, young kit like him could stitch circles around you in _no_ time."

"Whether it's in tailoring or not, that kit's got a bright future," answered Dad, "He joined the Junior Ranger Scouts today, and you should've seen him, Chess, a _fox_ in uniform! We took a photo, of course, something as historic as _that_ needs documentation. Now, I'll be the first to admit I had my concerns, but as soon as I saw Nicky standing tall and proud… it felt like a shining moment for foxes everywhere. Nicky's got big things waiting for him, and I can't _wait_ to see what he does."

Nicky's heart weighed heavier still, and bit his lip to keep back the tears. How could he _do_ this to them, to come back distrusted? They worked so hard for everything, for the uniform he wore and to get him into the troop in the first place, and then he _failed_. How could he let them down like that? How could he ruin his Dad's dream-come-true by telling them he was untrustworthy? When the phone rang and Mom excused herself to answer it, Nicky turned away from the door and back out into the yard, wiping any welling tears before he stopped, and glared down at his feet.

No. That's wrong. Nicky _could_ be trusted, maybe not by _that_ troop, but maybe there was a troop out there that _would_ trust him. It said "Troop 914" on the sign, so that means there had to be nine-hundred-and-thirteen _other_ troops he could try. Maybe those _jerks_ only saw him as some shifty fox, but they were _wrong_ , and the first thing he would do is march back there and get his hat back. And! And he would get the… the _muzzle_ , too, and show it to Mom and Dad. And then they would tell the prey parents, and then they could tell the police, and it wouldn't be tattling because muzzles are really, _really_ bad. Yeah, that'll show them. He'll go back without crying, chin up, ears forward, tail out, just like Dad. Like Mr. Foxglove. Like Grandpa Pib. He'll show them they can't get to Nicholas Piberius Wilde.

Back at the JRS meeting place, with the stone steps next to the red fire hydrant, the muzzle was nowhere to be seen no matter how much Nicky looked. They must've gotten it back after he left, which means if he confronted them, they would only put it on him again. Nicky shivered and shook his head… he wouldn't let them do that. He still needed his hat, though, so maybe he could sneak in and grab it; he was very good at sneaking, after all. Moving as quietly as he could, the kit tiptoed up the steps and through the doors, creeping along the wall to the stairway leading down into the meeting room. He could hear their voices as he peeked around the corner, the fur going up on his nape.

Nicky slid forward, but halted when he saw something sitting on the next-highest step, out of immediate view from the building's hallway: it was his hat inside of a zipper-locked freezer bag with the biohazard symbol drawn on in marker. He picked it up, frowning and pursing his lips as its meaning dawned on him. His eyes jolted from crestfallen to indignant when he heard hushed snickers beyond the stairs and spotted one of them ducking back around a corner. When he ripped the bag open to secure the hat on his head, he shouted "Don't forget to quarantine the room!" at them, tail puffing, and then nodded with a confident smirk before striding back outside.

When he returned to the sidewalk, Nicky's tail drooped because it still felt like he couldn't earn their trust, especially not after all _that_. And _maybe_ he could find another troop, but not without his parents. And what would he tell them? Mom and Dad would believe him about what happened, but without the muzzle, who would believe _them_? Definitely not those _jerks_ ' parents. Nicky removed his hat and ran a paw through the red fuzz, his mind a beehive of doubts. Maybe he should go see Finnick, because they could talk about anything; he was his best friend, after all. Besides, Mr. Chester would be at his house for a while because adult visits were always long and boring, and so long as he was home before the fog rolled in, he wouldn't get in trouble for being out too late.

Back towards home he went, but taking an alternate route that leads him to the apartments where Finnick lived. His tiny claws, though certainly not a cat's claws, were sharp enough to get him up a tree and over to his best friend's window. As expected, the glass pane was closed since Mr. Faire's voice carried and they got complaints from the neighbors about it. Nicky straddled the branch (ignoring any scuffs on the shorts of his uniform; they're meant for outdoor stuff anyway, right?) and crawled along until he was close enough for a practiced leap to the wide ledge right outside Finnick's window. Holding onto an eave, he lightly scratched at the glass to get his best friend's attention.

The fennec fox lifted his head from counting the pennies and nickels he found that day. Finnick was always good with numbers, one of the best students in the school even, and _always_ helped Nicky with his math homework (which showed on Nicky's report card). Finnick slid from his chair and scurried over to the window, unlatching it and sliding it up with aid. "Hi Nicky, what are you doing here?" he asked in his soft voice, but still happy for the visit, "What about the scout meeting?"

The red fox slipped in, quiet as could be, and closed the window behind him, "Hiya Finnick," he beamed, also whispering, "The scout meeting was…" paused, and rubbed at his neck, averting his eyes from his best friend's expectant face, "It wasn't good." Nicky hopped up onto Finnick's bed, the fennec to follow, and put his cheeks in his palms, "They didn't trust me because I'm a fox. How can I tell Mom and Dad that I'm untrustworthy?"

"But… you and your mom worked so hard for that uniform," Finnick said, looking it over, "What happened?"

Nicky didn't answer immediately, rather he covered his face and his shoulders shook with young, rattled composure, "They put me in a… in a _muzzle_ , Finnick, like I was a bad pred…" his head then lifted, eyes wide with terror, "I can't tell my parents that I was in a muzzle, or else they'll send me to see Dr. Lapis! That's… that's where bad preds go!"

"I thought Dr. Lapis _helped_ , like Mrs. Foxglove?" Finnick worried.

"I _think_ so, but my Dad said that a sly fox would _never_ need to go see her," he whimpered, breathing through his nose before shaking his head, "So, I… I _won't_ tell my parents…" Nicky hesitated, and then gulped to add, "Not until I can be trusted, because they don't send _good_ preds to Dr. Lapis, right?"

"What are you going to _do_ , Nicky?" asked Finnick, "You're not going to-" he dared not say it aloud, so spoke even softer, " _lie_ , are you?"

Nicky gawked at his best friend, and then pulled his knees up to his chin to curl his tail about the ankles. What _was_ he going to do? If he told his parents what _really_ happened, they would send him to see Dr. Lapis for sure, but if he didn't… if he _lied_ to them? Only _baby_ kits did that, before they knew better than to lie to another fox, or to keep secrets from family. Either way, Nicky felt more and more untrustworthy, "I…" he began to sob, forgetting to whisper, "maybe if I…"

"Oscar!" boomed Mr. Faire's voice. Nicky knew his best friend's _real_ name, of course, but also knew why he wanted others to call him "Finnick", because whenever Mr. Faire called for his son it was always in that loud, angry voice, "Who all's up there!" Nicky quickly wiped his face and dashed for the window, he and the fennec trying to unlatch it but it stuck. The bedroom door flew open, clattering against the wall, and there stood a fox that, granted, was only a little shorter than Nicky, but was much, _much_ meaner. Shane Faire, a fennec with slightly darker fur than his son and missing a piece of the right ear, stood in an undershirt and a pair of slacks with the suspenders hanging around his hips. Shane caught sight of the red fox, "Oh, Nicky," he pointed out, and then he seemed to notice the JRS uniform as he leaned against the doorframe, "Whatcha doin' _here_?"

"H-Hi Mr. Faire," said Nicky in a forced smile, turning to face the older fox and putting his paws behind his back respectfully, "I, umm… came to talk with Finnick after the scout meeting, to tell him about it."

Shane scratched his cheek, unconvinced, "Came to _gloat_ , you mean," he scoffed, and continued in a grumble, "You come in here with that fancy-schmancy getup like you're _special_. Head full of ideas that a buncha prey will _trust_ you. A _fox_. Yet you can't even come up through the front door, no, you sneak in through the window, don't ya'," and leered, "Even tried to sneak out again, thinking I wouldn't hear." Nicky's eyes, ears, and tail fell, paws folding in front of him, "Maybe I should give John and Jackie a call," he threatened, no longer leaning on the doorframe as he jabbed a finger, "Tell them that all the hard work they put into some _fool_ dream went to waste."

"No!" cried Nicky and clapped his paws together, " _Please_ , Mr. Faire, don't-!"

"Don't _what_ , Nicky?" he barked, voice rising again, "Tell 'em that their kit can't be trusted, _especially_ by them? That he whined and begged to buddy up with prey only to chicken out at the last minute? I gotta admit, Nicky, it's a mighty fine _scam_ you had going, coming across all-"

"They put him in a muzzle!" yelled Finnick, paws balled into fists, staring at his dad with tear-welled eyes, "He tried to join them but they treated him like a bad pred!" Shane reeled at the news, but perhaps more at the raised voice of his son, "They were going to send him to Dr. Lapis," the younger fennec whimpered, "Just like they're going to do to _you_." Finnick was scared, though, not angry, and wiped his eyes with his wrist, voice going soft again, yet in the palpable silence it was unbearably loud, "I heard the neighbors talking," he choked, "It's because you're always angry, always yelling, but it's okay, Dad, because Dr. Lapis can make you _better_." And then he was even quieter, "Nicky's not a bad pred, though, so he doesn't need to see her…" Nicky, though he did not move, was behind Finnick, protected by him, it felt, even though he looked and, indeed, _acted_ the role of a big brother, the fennec was actually the older fox of the two, and it was in rare times like this that it really showed.

Mr. Faire gawked, jaw swaying as he tried to speak, looking back and forth between the two kits, "Where did you hear that name?" he finally said, taking a step forward, "Where!" and tried to yell, but it caught in his throat.

"We heard her name at school," Nicky weakly reported, "My Dad says Dr. Cleopatra Lapis makes bad preds good, but-"

"No!" said Shane, quick-stepping forward until he could grab both of their shoulders, talking quietly as if someone was around to hear, "No no no, kits, listen, you don't _ever_ say her name out loud; never!" He tried to sound assuring, but he was trembling from ears to tail, "Oscar," he said quietly, and cupped his son's cheeks in both paws, "Who, who did you hear say that they were going to take me to see her?"

Finnick grabbed his father's wrists, "It'll be okay, Dad, she'll make you better!"

"No!" Shane said again, "Preds that come back from her aren't 'better', they're _broken_! Everything that made them who they are is ripped out of them, leaving only scared, blank faces," he whispered, and clenched his jaw, thumb brushing the younger fennec's cheek, "I'm… I'm sorry I yell so much, Oscar, I really, _really_ am, but it's so hard without your mother… she… she made me right. Whenever I wake up and I remember that she's gone, it makes me so mad…"

"It's hard for me, too, Dad; I want Mommy back everyday…" Finnick sniffed, looking up into the pained, dawning realization on his father's face, "I don't want them to take you, but you _need_ to get better. Please?"

"O-Okay, Oscar," he said, and tried to smile, "I promise to get better, but you let me know if any of the neighbors start talking about… about _her_ again, alright? That'll tell me that I'm being too loud again, okay?"

"Okay…" whimpered Finnick, but he did sound, at least, a _little_ bit hopeful, and slipped from his father's paws to grab around his chest and hug with all his might.

Shane held his son, the fear in his eyes quite vivid. He glanced over to Nicky, and seemed to remember that he was standing there, cleared his throat, and patted the younger fennec's head, "Umm… I'm sorry that you-... about, umm…" he coughed, and scratched at his own nape, "Listen, Nicky, you're a good kit, a good _pred_ , and… trying to get into the Juniors… it's not nothing. It's terrible that they muzzled you, but… that's what prey _do_ ," he said, and put an arm around Finnick's shoulders, "They're scared of us pred, of _foxes_ , but they outnumber us, too, so… Just trying to get them to trust you, it's pretty brave. Braver than I could be. Listen, Nicky, do you… umm… do you want some crackers? We've got some peanut butter crackers, if you want some."

Nicky rubbed his arm, but uncurled his tail from around his legs, "Okay," he finally said, "Thanks, Mr. Faire."

"Alright, you two wait here, I'll go get those crackers," said Shane, once more trying to smile, and turned to double-time out of the room, leaving the kits in… well, maybe not a _worse_ state than before, but certainly not _better_ , either.

"Hey Finnick," Nicky finally said after they sat down on the bed again, but this time cross-legged and not so near the edge, a subtle sparkle in his eye as he seemed to think of something especially clever, "If I made my own troop in the Junior Ranger Scouts, would you join it?"

"Your own troop?" doubted a curious Finnick.

"Yeah," Nicky said, softly smiling, "I mean, I can't be part of Troop 914, but maybe it can be a troop of just the two of us?"

"But I don't have a uniform…"

"That's okay, because in _my_ troop, you can use whatever you got," he said, gaining a bit of smugness at the idea rolling about in his head, "It'll be a _pred_ troop, but prey can join, too."

"Will your Mom and Dad be okay with that? What will you tell them?"

Nicky hummed and pondered this, "We'll need an adult to make the troop, won't we, and I can't tell Mom and Dad, yet, not until I can show that I _can_ be trusted by prey, or else they'll send me to…" and he leaned in to whisper, "You-Know-Who," and then spoke normally again, "Dad must not know she's actually _bad_. But… if she's not nice, then she might not be a bunny at all, she might be someone _big_ and _scary_ ," the red fox thought, "How else could she break preds?"

The sandy-furred ears twitched, "Oh, Dad's coming!"

And a minute later, Mr. Faire returned through the door, wearing his suspenders and carrying a tray piled up with peanut butter crackers and two tall glasses of milk, "We've only got almond milk, if that's okay?" he said, and put the tray down on the bed between the kits. He took a step back with a smile as they said their thanks, seeming in higher spirits than when he left. "Hey, Nicky, listen, about all that you heard… I'd be grateful if you didn't say _too_ much to your parents about it."

"Okay, Mr. Faire," said the red fox through a mouthful of cracker.

The older fennec nodded with a sigh of relief, "They're good foxes, John and Jackie, and I'll tell them myself, but I'm not quite… not quite _ready_ to say anything, as of yet," he explained, and pulled over his son's desk chair to sit nearby, "I guess the Juniors - since they put you in a muzzle - won't be working out for ya'," he said apologetically, but quickly added, "But if you need time to tell your parents about it, you can come over here instead of the meetings. How's that sound?"

"Really?" beamed Nicky.

"Yeah!" beamed Shane, scooting forward on the chair a bit, "If, of course, _you_ don't mind, Oscar?" When his son gave an affirmed shake of his head, the older fennec continued, "But you have to promise me that you _will_ tell your parents, because foxes don't keep secrets from each other without good reason or for too long, and right now, you need to get this whole… _Juniors_ thing figured out. And I promise I'll tell your parents about what's happening with me, I just need… _time_ , is all."

"I promise, Mr. Faire," Nicky said, grinned, and then put up the Junior Ranger Scout's sign, "Scout's honor."

* * *

Nick navigated the small town roads toward the sheriff's office, accepting directions as needed until pulling into a modest area designated for parking ("lot" would be too kind a term). The buildings refrained of reaching higher than two stories, with notable exception of the town hall, visible over the tops of surrounding structures.

"Hey Stretch, if it ain't too impert'nent to ask, what happened with you and Finnick that you don't keep score?" Gideon inquired as the vehicle came to a stop.

"Well," shrugged Nick with a weary sigh, killing the engine after a full and complete stop, and casually popping open the driver-side door, "It's not something that happened _between_ us, as it's something that happened _to_ us."

Judy hopped out the other side, "I've not heard _any_ species of mammal except foxes that 'keep score'," she stated, "Esther explained that it's something learned as kits as part of their bantering, but I always figured it was something that went away when you reached adulthood." Both Nick and Gideon gave her a bewildered glance, to which she responded, " _Does_ it ever go away?" and closed the van door.

"Careful, Carrots, dig much deeper and your fox rank will be more than 'honorary'. Two circumstances end a fox's 'score'," Nick explained as he and Gideon walked around the vehicle to meet Judy at the back, "First, is a fox's death. Traditionally, when a fox buys the farm they are laid to rest on a funeral pyre - I think it has something to do with the red color of our fur - an attendee pays their respects by tossing into the blaze a bundle of bay leaves and a scrap of paper with a number tucked inside."

"I'd say that the paper is that 'score', but why bay leaves?"

"Who knows?" laughed Nick, "Probably a plentiful token of convenience back in the day, and nothing more."

"According to Ma, foxes would count out bay leaves and toss them onto the pyre, but nowadays it's better to write the number down," Gideon added, "Tha's the score, y'see, which _you_ kept for _them_ and burning it sends it with them to the great beyond, since they're dead that score can't go up anymore."

"Or down," suggested Judy, and then elaborated, "It can't go up or down anymore, since they're dead." But her ears drooped as, once again, both foxes exchanged a bewildered, almost put-off expression, one more pitying than the other.

"Carrots," Nick said as kindly as possible, taking a knee to rest a paw on her shoulder, "the score _never_ goes down; unless the fox keeping said score is an irrevocable jerk."

"Or dumb," said Gideon.

"Yes, or dumb," agreed Nick, and clapped her shoulder, before standing upright again as the other fox busied himself with opening the back of the van, "Now then, circumstance number two: you don't keep score of a fox that you are avowed to."

"So… like mates, then?" Judy's brow quirked.

"Mates, a parent and a child, or - in my and Finnick's case - a life debt. We saved each other's lives many years ago, and so no longer keep score," Nick said rather matter-of-factly, and then grinned, "You are an honorary fox, Carrots, but we do not keep score for the same reason."

"Oh," she smiled, if bashfully, ears warming at the idea, "Well, that makes sense, since we did save each other's lives… a _few_ times, in fact. So, do _you_ two keep score?"

"Of course," they said in unison.

The apt, synchronized response, admittedly, surprised her a bit, "But you've only known each other for a weekend?"

"Yes, and I'm already up to seventeen," Nick boasted in smug smirk, examining his claws, "None too shabby, if I say so myself."

"Yeah, but _I_ 'm at twelve, more than halfway," huffed Gideon, yet it all seemed in notable, subtle playfulness that both amused and confused the resident rabbit. The stouter fox shuffled the tupperwares around until he got that which he desired, and by the slump of his shoulders he was all too aware of the weight one held over the other. He cracked open the plastic lid of one to confirm its contents, but also treating it as if a giant spider was sealed inside.

The streets were quiet, and as far as Nick could see, empty, something a city-fox like him took immediate notice of; his keen night-eyes swept up and down the road, arms crossed in bemusement at how astonishingly vacant a small town could be. "Am I the only one unsettled about this?" he asked aloud.

"About what?" asked Judy, ears swiveling to his question.

" _This_ ," he repeated with a broad gesture, "How can a town be so _quiet_?"

"Three reasons come to mind," she grinned in some degree of relief, and counted them off with a finger for each, "Bunnyburrow hosts a lot of diurnal species; that's number one. Number two, there's the pre-TBR party going on at the fairgrounds," she pointed at the bright part of the sky with both fingers, a la Nick, "lots of noises and mammals over _there_. Finally, reason number three: it's only 'quiet' because there aren't a lot of the city-sounds out here, which I'm personally thankful for."

"If you want nightlife, you'd best head over to Preds' Corner," Gideon said with a smile, tucking the tupperware under his arm, "There's a weekly Prowl & Howl I went to for a long while, but that's more a luxury ever since the bakery opened up. No regrets, though. I'm happy for my li'l bakery, and will be happier when I can get back to it."

"And at long last get _this_ behind us," Nick flicked his wrist in derision at the whipped cream, "My entire weekend away from work was tragically spent doing it, when it could have easily been spent lounging about eating the divine cuisine of Bangs and watching bad television." Gideon smirked and scoffed to this assessment.

"I'll be happy to get all this sorted out," sighed Judy as they made way to the lit doors of the Sheriff's office, "We barely scratched the surface of the can-of-worms this opened, yet shouldn't investigate too deeply for a host of reasons, but so long as we are vigilant to keep innocents out of harm's way, I'd say we can count it a job well done."

"My services are, as always, at your disposal, Carrots, but I _do_ hope you are courteous enough to refrain from testing mysterious substances on yourself in the foreseeable future," Nick smirked.

"I'm never living that down, am I."

"Not in a million years." Stepping forward, Nick pushed and held a door open for the other two. Within, they walked up to the receptionist/dispatcher, an upright-sitting giraffe with a set of black, thick-framed eyeglasses perched on his long nose, cloven fingers typing at a keyboard some yards below his ceiling-mounted monitor.

"Good evening," greeted Judy, waving up at the monitor-blocked face.

"I'll be with you in a minute," the giraffe replied succinctly, eyes never leaving the screen reflecting off his spectacles as he typed with a brisk, but unhurried pace.

"Did he mean a literal 'minute', or are we being polite?" Nick whispered over Gideon's shoulder after some several seconds, and was shushed with a reflexive grin. "Okay, I'll let the quiet town work its system, it's not like I have anywhere to go," he said under his breath, paws folded behind his back and rocking from heel-to-toe.

The giraffe reached up and guided the high monitor aside, "And what can I do for you?" he asked of them. He pulled out a glasses case to set it on the high-rise counter of the desk, from which he drew a neatly folded microfiber cloth with one hoof, while the other removed his glasses. By the looks of it, his attention favored cleaning his eyewear.

"Heya Officer Legrand," said Gideon, "Is Sheriff Longmare still in?"

"Hmm?" Legrand grunted in address to the question, "Oh, yes, she is. Rachel and I are the only ones still in the building, what with everyone else working the fairgrounds. You'd think with so high a spike in population, there'd be more activity, but no, it's been quiet," he specified, though no one asked. "I don't suppose those are organic almond clusters?" he inquired upon perceiving the tupperware, perhaps the first inkling of interest expressed in the short span of their meeting.

"Ah, no, this is… umm," the stouter fox smiled in apology, rubbing the back of his head, "for the sheriff."

"Ah, shame that," sighed the giraffe, and returned his attention to cleaning. He pulled out a small bottle and gave each lens a sprits before continuing, "Those little clusters would've made a wonderfully peaceful evening all the better. _C'est la vie_ ," and shrugged his narrow shoulders with slow wiping movements of his thumb on the glasses.

"At least _our_ dispatcher is lovably eccentric," Nick leaned in to whisper at Judy, who bit back a snicker and pushed his face away.

Legrand returned the glasses to the bridge of his nose and took a moment to look at a ceiling light, as though to inspect for any further smudges, and then grunted in dissatisfied acceptance. The giraffe's long neck bent down to study the taller fox, "And _you_ must be 'Nick'," he pointed out, "Rachel mentioned that you three were coming, although I assumed you'd be in sooner, considering that whole sundown stand-off at the bakery was hours ago. She's in the back, at the holding cells, down the hallway and hang a left. Hard to miss." His neck curled further as he gripped a walkie-talkie at his shoulder, "Sheriff: Judy, Nick, and Gideon are finally here. Over."

"I'll be right out," came her voice, "Watch the cell."

"Of course," the dispatcher said, and with a gentle cough of static from the walkie-talkie, his eyes rolled divided attention to the screen once more, clicking at the touch-pad mouse. "Years as a model citizen, and then out of the blue he shows up with firearms and runs _some_ one over with his car. What ever did you do to rile up Grav Hopps?" he asked after a moment of quiet of observation, although from the tone of his voice it sounded more a rhetorical question than direct.

The three exchanged glances.

"Turned him down," grinned Judy.

"Shocked him," smirked Nick.

"Existed," smiled Gideon.

Legrand looked at them bewildered, the only sincere emotion he expressed during their whole interaction. The giraffe pushed his glasses up from his nostrils to the bridge of his nose as Sheriff Longmare strode into view.

"Eyes on the cell, Legrand," she reprimanded, an authoritative voice that rang as a church bell, to which the spotted, mammalian tower promptly responded with a "Yes, ma'am." She was of average height and build for a mare, broad in hip and strong of back with a long face of rugged elegance. Even her pelt was a weathered, steely gray speckled in waves of salt-&-pepper, but rather than give her an aged look, it analogized a complementing demeanor of maternal mercy and decisive justice. The tight bun behind her head was surely a thick mane held firm, and though loose strands escaped they spoke of dedication to the job instead of any lackadaisical attitude.

"Sorry we're so late, Rachel," Judy apologized.

"Honestly, I was glad for the break," she mused with a sighing smile, "Gid, it seems you're finally in the center of a real investigation."

"Lucky me," the stouter fox chuckled.

"Nick Wilde," grinned the taller fox, reaching up to grasp her offered hoof.

"Sheriff Rachel Longmare," and then nodding over her shoulder, "You've already met Officer Legrand. Since we're the only ones here tonight, he'll be taking your statements."

"But who'll watch the cell?" the giraffe wondered aloud, no attempt to hide his grain of salt.

"Close ZooTube and you might have some attention to spare, Legrand."

"Yes, ma'am," he responded with some degree of indignation, and clicked on the touchpad to minimize the aforementioned browser window, "Whenever you're all ready."

"We want to report suspicious activity in regards to an event with the TBR, specifically, the pie-eating contest tomorrow," Judy began, and gestured to the tupperware which Gideon held out, peeling back the plastic lid to show its contents, "This whipped cream is laced with a narcotic, which we believe to be _midnicampum holicithias_ extract."

"Gideon Grey unknowingly made the whipped cream with tainted supplies," Nick continued in all due professionalism, "we believe this was done to sneak the Night Howler drug into the festival. There's a real problem with Night Howler pollen in the city right now, which Officer Hopps and I are directly involved with. Through personal, unwitting exposure, I can attest to the claim that this whipped cream is drugged."

"You tasted it?" asked the sheriff.

"We both did," Judy answered, "Either instance mirrored results of _midnicampum holicithias_ exposure. As of now, neither of us suffer from any aftereffects, though."

"The supplies for the whipped cream came from Tad Wooler," Gideon chimed in, "I had some, too, but it wasn't a lot, so it wasn't as severe."

"So, you've all tried this supposedly 'drugged' dessert, and yet no worse for the wear?" Legrand butt in.

"My heart stopped within seconds of ingestion," Nick elaborated, "Were it not for Gideon's quick CPR, I'd surely be dead."

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'. Get back to statementing, Legrand," Officer Wilde directed.

Longmare snorted and smirked, stooping to receive the plastic container from the baker, "I'll get this into evidence and run a drug test on it as soon as possible. The lab tech is on that cruise with the rest of Preds' Corner-"

"That means we won't get the results until _Thursday_?" asked Gideon.

"It means we won't get the results for another week, at the earliest," answered Judy.

"Don't worry, Gid," assured Rachel, "We can send a sample to the city, and with any luck hear something before then. If this was meant for tomorrow's pie eating contest, then it's not something we can let sit. Do you know if there's any more?"

"It was unintentionally contaminated, and then cleaned out," the bunny explained, and pointing up to the tupperware, "What you've got there is all that's left."

"We spent yesterday making more for the contest," sighed the baker with a smile, "Ms. Clara was nice enough to supply the cream."

"And _that_ whipped cream is safe?" asked the horse.

"Each of us tried _every_ bowlful, just to make sure," Judy said.

"Thorough," Rachel nickered, "Is there anything else you want to report before I get this gravy train rolling?"

"Actually, _yes_ ," replied Nick, "We have a hunch that Grav Hopps is involved, but we cannot say for certain _how_ ," he pulled out the note with the receipt, "This doodle was found in the vat when Grav and Bo brought it to Gideon's bakery, which matches the doodle on a receipt from a restaurant earlier today." He handed them both over to the sheriff by placing them on the closed tupperware."

"We won't be able to charge Grav with anything beyond what he did today, but I'll enter this as evidence connected to the case," Longmare explained, "But if it all matches like you say it does, getting a warrant won't be hard. Did you get all that, Legrand?"

"Yes ma'am," he replied lethargically, and then looked over expectantly to her, a cloven hoof drifting towards the tupperware and paper, "Shall I process all this crucial evidence, then?"

"No," she neighed, and kept it out of his reach, " _I_ 'll process it, because _you_ 'll take all night about it. You stay here and keep an eye on Grav."

The giraffe huffed in relenting annoyance and sank back into the chair, "Grab a Nickers bar, because you're a grouch when you're hungry," he said under his breath.

"I've had about enough of your lip, Legrand-" she began, but was interrupted by a bellowing growl from her stomach. She breathed deep and tucked the container a bit closer as she continued calmly, "That changes _nothing_ , because I'm still processing this evidence."

"When was the last time you ate, Rachel?" Judy asked with audible concern.

"Do alfalfa chips count as food?" she answered with a shrug.

"Well, shoot, we've got some of Bonnie's casserole out in the van," offered Gideon with a grin, tossing a thumb over his shoulder, "If you both don't mind, of course."

"I've eaten it a hundred times before, and will eat it a hundred times again," the bunny said amiably, "Unless Nick's bottomless pit needs refilling."

"I'm contented from an earlier sandwich," smirked the taller fox, and turned to Rachel, "If you're willing to accept some leftovers, fresh made tonight, as a sign of a good will."

"Well…" she began, and when her stomach growled a bit quieter at the prospect of food, she sagged her shoulders, smiling as best she could, "Go get it; I'll put it in the fridge."

"Back in a jiff," Gideon said with a sweep of his tail, heading back out to the street and the patiently waiting van. Judy's ear swiveled to follow him, keeping as casual as she dared with Finnick's warning fresh in her mind, but so to not draw the sheriff's experienced attention to any _further_ mischief looming over Gideon.

"Did you meet your grandpa at the hospital, Judy?" Rachel asked, leaning on the front desk as they waited for delivery of mother-made, three-bean nourishment.

"I did," she smiled, "he told me all about his talk with Grav. You were there, weren't you?"

"I was, and I'm remembering that he mentioned the pie-eating contest. Of course, I didn't think anything of it until now," she admitted, patting the plastic lid, "but with all this new light on the subject, I can't help but feel some weight to it."

"That's what clued _me_ in to his involvement," Judy explained.

"And from there, we strung everything together one piece at a time," Nick continued, "Whether he let slip crucial information intentionally or not is up for debate. I'd rather refrain from crawling inside his head to find out," he smirked, but then frowned as Judy's ears and the fur on the nape of her neck stood at immediate attention, "Carrots?"

"I can hear Grav," Judy answered, and addressed Legrand, "What's he doing?"

"Hmm?" grunted the giraffe, but sat up when he made eye contact with the determined rabbit, "Oh! Yes, let's see," and referenced the screen, "Grav is… leaning against the bars with his arms through them to cup his mouth."

Judy frowned and rubbed at a temple, "He's chanting my name," she said, and then looked over her shoulder as Gideon re-entered with another tupperware tucked under his arm, "I think… I think he wants to talk," and then shuddered with a deep, bristling inhale, but it only set her brow firmer as she touched a paw to her chest, "He just said to not 'forget _my_ foxes'."


	12. Chapter 12

_Peer back, brave ones, but steel your nerves  
_

 _And judge for yourself what deserves_

 _The time it takes for you to find_

 _What is crucial and what's a blind_

* * *

Past the neighbor's fenced-off yards and residential alleyways, Nicky raced the waning light in the sky and the fog nipping at his heels. It was plenty dark for prey kids, but _pred_ kids got to stay out a little bit later thanks to their night vision, even so, the red fox pushed his luck to its limit being outdoors for so long. He was a clever kit, though, and even if it might take him little longer, Nicky returned home around the front door, since that would be the way he would come if returning from the Scout meeting (coming around to the kitchen the first time let him avoid notice), and even took a solid minute to brush away any dirt, leaves, twigs, and other such signs of dishevelment.

He vaulted up the steps to his front door, feeling lighter than air after getting some advice from Mr. Faire (he was practically family since Nicky and Finnick are best friends). The clarifying run home cemented the idea that his parents would _never_ send him off to Dr. Lapis because it's not what foxes did to each other, and that's why they didn't keep secret or tell lies; as Mom always said, "In the end, it _only_ makes things worse". Standing on the paw print doormat, Nicky gave his footpads a quick wiping before he tried the handle. Locked, as he knew it would be, he instead scratched his claws in a soft, vibrant flurry on the door's wood to get his parents' attention (his own special 'knock').

"Oh, that's Nicky!" said Mom, almost audible through the door when he pressed his ear to it. She sounded so happy, which meant it'd be easier to tell her what happened with the Junior Ranger Scouts - it still gave him the shivers thinking about the muzzle they put him in… The door opened to spill out hallway light, Nicky's bright green eyes looking up to his Mom, "Welcome back, sweetie, we thought you dropped off the face of the planet," she teased, stepping aside and ushering her kit inward with her tail while a paw caressed his smiling cheek.

"Heya, Kitto!" called Dad, leaning back in his chair to peer down the hallway to his scampering son. "You missed all the fun and excitement of signing paperwork," he laughed, leaning forward again so his chair sat squarely on the ground, before Mom could say anything about it.

"Ah!" said a dark, jolly voice, which froze Nicky's blood when he heard it; not because it was especially creepy (it _was_ creepy, but that's not what froze the kit) but because it was there at all, "Young Mr. _Wilde_ , what an absolute delight to catch you," said the unmistakable "Mr. Chester", a wildcat larger than either Mom or Dad (but not by much), with an impossibly wide, albeit friendly grin.

This was bad. _Really_ bad. Nicky didn't know Mr. Chester, and didn't know many wildcat families or how they dealt with sensitive matters, so could he tell his parents what happened, with Mr. Chester in the room? Mom and Dad probably trusted him - he was in their house and wearing one of Dad's suits, after all (the kit could spot one anywhere) - but could Nicky?

"Chess, I think you spooked him," teased Dad, twirling a pen between his fingers as he pivoted in his seat to face Nicky.

"I'm not spooked, Dad," Nicky denied, arms crossed and back straight, "'Mr. Chess' has me at an advantage, is all, since he knows so much about me but I know nothing about him," and finished with a smirk. Mom also crossed her arms but did not bushwhack her kit; after all, a fox in their own home was allowed some light banter, if for a guest.

The wildcat chuckled with a paw to his mouth (which did little to cover his grin), "He's certainly yours, John," and stood to address the kit with an extended paw as Dad shrugged with a proud smile, "Chester Vandersnatch, an out _stand_ ing pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Nicky Wilde, pleased to meet you, sir," said Nicky, grasping the larger paw to shake it. To this, Mom smiled in approval. He then looked over the table and the papers scattered across it. The scene confused him, because he _thought_ Mr. Chester came over to give Dad his new shop, and tilted his scout cap to scratch under it, wondering if he was mistaken about what the adults were visiting about.

"Nicky," said Dad, inclining with his elbow on the table and his paw to a knee, glancing up as Mr. Chester took a seat, and then exchanging an eager smile with Mom, "D'you remember what I told you about Suitopia?"

"Of course, Dad, it's gonna be your suit shop," Nicky replied.

"Well, all of _this_ ," he paused, and waved his palm over the blanket of papers, "makes that dream a reality as of _tonight_."

"It _does_?" beamed the kit, and scurried to the table's edge to attempt in some way to decipher the plethora of extraordinarily boring activities of adults, peeking under sheets of paper, moving them aside as though to look for whatever it was that made the shop real. "How does it happen? Will it be open tomorrow? Where will it be?" he rattled off, as though the forms themselves would reveal their secrets the more questions he asked.

"Okay, my little Raspberry," said Mom, a name for when he was being especially silly, and grabbed him under the arms to lift him from his feet enough to pull the kit away from the table, and promptly raspberried his neck (to a flailing shriek of merriment), " _You_ 've caused enough buggery for one night; to bed with you."

"Now now, Jackie," cooed Mr. Chester, "I would _never_ object to so clever a youth as Nicky from growing curiouser and curiouser."

"Besides, those answers are _long_ and _boring_ ," groaned Dad, "It won't be open tomorrow, but it's in that old building right next to the Frozen Fox ice cream joint. How about _that_ , Nicky? It's only a few blocks from home!" he announced.

"On the contrary, John," chuckled the wildcat, grinning ever wider, "Everything's set to begin first thing in the morning, which is why it was so urgent I come over _tonight_."

"'First thing'-?" gawked Dad.

"This is for _real_?" Nicky asked in awe.

"Now you're catching on," purred Mr. Chester.

"All right. Okay," flustered Dad, recalling the multitudinous "first thing in the morning" responsibilities he was already tasked with at his current place of employment, "I'll have to quit my job."

"It's done," he assured, "You resigned this afternoon."

"I did?"

"Yep," Mr. Chester slyly affirmed, "Don't like to leave loose ends."

"Um, my 'apartment'," he air-quoted, which was actually the bottom drawer of a larger mammal's dresser in the crawlspace above the shop for when his workload extended into the wee hours of the morning; but it was a reliable place to sleep, even if it cost a pittance a night to ensure that it was still there when he needed it, "I have to give notice."

"Taken care of."

"My clothes?"

"Packed."

"My books?"

"In storage," dismissed Mr. Chester with an amiable flick of his wrist, "Honestly, you'll be getting new inventory and bookkeeping as necessary, so I wouldn't worry _too_ much about all that."

"Just _who_ are these clients, Chess?" asked Mom.

"I never get involved in politics, Jackie," he answered, but grinned all the same, "However, they're quite _mad_ to see John's potential unfettered."

"But Dad, you said you'd never want to make your clients _mad_ , right?" worried Nicky.

"Oh, you can't help that," chortled Mr. Chester, "Most _every_ one's mad here."

Mom forced a laugh and gently cupped Nicky's ears to promptly usher him from the kitchen, " _Funny_ , Chess, very. Time for bed, Nicky, go get changed and I'll be up shortly to tuck you in."

"Oh, okay?" said a confused Nicky as his ears flicked, peering up as both Mom and Dad certainly _looked_ mad at Mr. Chester, before turning down the hall.

"Hey now, young mister," chided Dad, "Where do you think _you_ 're going without kissing your father good night?"

"A _good_ night's sleep," responded the kit with a smirk, already on his way over to kiss his Dad's chin (instead of his cheek, because the extra fuzz on Dad's chin tickled his nose, and he always did it for as long as he could remember).

"Scamp," smirked Dad, and kissed Nicky's forehead before he scurried to the stairs.

The kit took the stairs two at a time (but made sure to hit the squeaky one on the way up) and ducked to his bedroom, wherein he changed out from his treasured Junior Ranger Scouts uniform into his favorite pair of blue-polka-dotted pajamas (because they reminded him of blueberries). The uniform was carefully hung up in his closet; if there was anything he learned from Dad about personal tidiness, it was the proper care and storage of clothes (his toys, books, and handicrafts were haphazardly strewn about, but _never_ his clothes); Mom handled most everything else, habits which didn't always stick with Nicky, but he did help with the laundry from time-to-time.

"I'll tell them tomorrow," Nicky said to himself, taking one last look at the uniform hanging in his closet, and closed the door.

Nicky went through the routine of dental hygiene and face-washing before he climbed into bed, pulling in his beloved patched-up pillow but leaving his covers untucked for Mom. He loved Dad's stories, and he _loved_ when Mom sang a lullaby. They didn't change much, but they didn't need to because they always sounded so pretty. However, Nicky was _so_ tired from the day that no sooner did he set his head back than he was soundly snoozing in his yet-tucked bed. When Mom finally came up, she couldn't bring herself to wake her kit and so quietly brought the covers up under his chin and kissed his cheek, whispering a "Good night" before turning off the light.

 _He awoke with a start, huffing and puffing as he looked about at the dark room. Yawning, Nicky rubbed at his eyes… but found they weren't there. He could see, but… he didn't have eyes?_

 _His nose wasn't there._

 _His mouth wasn't there._

 _His fur wasn't there._

 _His whiskers weren't there._

 _His entire face was only cold, hard metal._

 _He tried to scream, and he could hear his scream in his head but not in his ears._

 _He tried to get up, but he was locked to the bed._

 _A bright, white light came on, brighter than the sun, and even though he didn't have eyes he could see this light. He tried to cover his eyes with his paws or look away, but he was locked down everywhere._

" _Nicky…" came a spooky voice, and in the middle of the bright, white light was a small shadow - a long-eared shadow - and it got closer until he could see a kind grin and nice eyes, but it wasn't anyone he knew, "Nicky… you've been a bad fox, haven't you," she said; definitely a "she"._

" _No!" he cried, and again he heard it in his head but not his ears, "I'm a good fox! A good fox!"_

 _The shadow grew bigger and bigger, meaner and meaner, "Only bad foxes lie, Nicky, only bad foxes can't be trusted," she warned, and though the shadow was huge the bright, white light still hurt his eyes, "You're a bad fox. A bad fox! Bad fox! Bad! Fox!"_

Nicky screamed, and he heard it this time, so he screamed again just to make sure, and then he cried and whined, grabbing at his face to find his eyes, and nose, and mouth, and whiskers, holding his furry, face-covered head as he sobbed. It was still dark, very dark, but then his bedroom door flew open and the dim nightlight flicked on.

"Nicky!" called Mom and Dad, both in their pajamas, not even their bathrobes, Dad stalking around the room to determine if anything amiss while Mom leapt onto the bed to hold their kit. "Sweetie, sweetie, it's okay, we're here," she cooed, cradling his sobs to her bosom and his seat to her lap, her own legs up on the bed as he curled as close possible.

Dad soon joined her when he determined that the room was safe, and they shared an expression of deep dread, "It was only a bad dream, Nicky," he assured, caressing the back of his son's head, "You're safe now, and we won't let anything hurt you." The kit whimpered, but trembled still. "Do you want me to tell you a tale?" he proposed, but got another whimper, this time with a soft shake of the head.

"Do you want me to sing you a song?" Mom offered, and got another whimper, but this time with a soft nod. Dad's stories were good for happy times, but Mom's lullabies were best for sad times, "Alright, my little Blueberry," she said, her name for him when she was especially proud of him, or needed to calm him down, "It'll be a bedtime song, so you'll need to cry a little softer so you can hear it, okay?" With a sniff and a settling affirmation, Nicky was turned about in her lap so that he was still against her, but also facing his Dad as he reached one arm around Mom, and the other arm lay across them both…

 _Lee-la-dee, lee-la-dee, lee-de-diddy-dee-doo_

 _Join me, my love, on an adventure for two_

 _With derring and doing for hearts strong and true_

 _Come with me, my love, and join in my tale_

 _We'll climb ev'ry mountain, and trek ev'ry vale_

 _At land's end, my love, we'll grab ship and set sail_

 _To other adventures that await o'er the sea_

 _It's all for you, love, if you could come with me,_

 _Loo-da-doo, loo-da-doo, oo-de-lally-loo-lee_

* * *

Presently, Nick let no concern show through his stoic nonchalance beyond an inquisitively arching brow, not when in the company of new faces, an especially stalwart bunny, and a fellow fox who undoubtedly looked to him for emotional fortitude (after two nervous breakdowns in the same day, Gideon simply couldn't afford to lose face outside of personal relations, lest risking the revocation of his fox card). Several points of interest vied for attention like text messages in a movie theater, however, namely, the fact that his partner in law, Judy - despite her biological rabbit-ness - blazed with an intangible aura of justice far above her usual fare; there were wrongs to right and the unseen lodestone of cosmic correction ushered her to exactly where she needed to be to do so. Running parallel-and-opposite to Judy's foolhardy yet commendable heroism was Grav, another bunny proving themselves an outlier to the norm of their species by antagonizing known officers of the law from inside a jail cell, and while this in of itself warranted personal amusement on Nick's part, it was not which jumped out at him so readily, rather, the curious feat that two rabbits down the hall from each other - by simple virtue of their uncanny aural acuteness - could carry on a conversation that, from the perspective of anyone within earshot of either bunny, sounded not only one-sided but borderline schizophrenic.

Perhaps it was not _too_ great a surprise to Nick how radically a rabbit's ears set them apart from other mammals, after all, Zootopia was filled to the brim with such feats considered commonplace to one species yet supernatural to another. By his own experience, foxes that worked closely together developed a mutual sense of coordinated intent and endeavor (a factor exaggerated by The Many Adventures of Mr.  & Mrs. Foxglove, a pair of mated secret agents that provided those in the fox community with what amounts to their own "superheroes") which witnesses describe as "spontaneous choreography", "preternatural synchronicity", or in the lay vernacular, "crazy luck". It was no further great surprise, upon new information in the recent evening, that Grav might have honed this particular aspect of rabbit acuteness to develop - as Judy, Gideon, and Nick came to suspect based on a "coincidental" meeting with Bo earlier that afternoon - something of a _spy network_ comprised of bunnies dedicated to snooping on conversations and communicating back to Grav himself (once the information is learned, a simple text message would no doubt suffice to relay juicy nuggets of gossip or threats of meddling).

"Rest assured, your foxes are _right_ behind you," said Nick in a low, easy tone, earning for his quip Judy's smirking glance and a solid thumbs-up, to which either city-based officer addressed the rural civilian Gideon; Gideon frowned, but gave the most confident thumbs-up available in the permitting circumstances. "Can he hear me right now?" the taller fox asked of the rabbit.

"Most likely," Judy answered before pausing with hip-anchored paws, "And now he's bragging that he can hear Gid's quickened heartbeat. _Bragging_ , says I," she asserted with a raised finger of dictation, paused again to thump a foot, and then pointed down the hallway, "Don't tempt me, because I _might_ just do that!"

"Carrots, you're worrying the local authorities," whispered Nick, glancing up at an unamused Sheriff Longmare, and then dared a small grin, "Oh look, her nostrils flare out _exactly_ Bogo's."

Indeed, it looked like one could hit a golf ball straight up her nasal cavity. Regardless, she kindly accepted the leftovers from Gideon, breathing in that subtle smell of homely cooking from Bonnie's kitchen, and stacked it on top of the identical plasticware housing the toxic substance which started the weekend's whole mess of problems. "You're in luck, Legrand," said the stern horse, a heavy hoof setting both plastic containers on the giraffe's dispatcher desk, and then pointing her stony appendage to the top and then the bottom, "Nuke this one for three minutes, and process _that_ one as evidence, make sure to expedite it," Rachel instructed in a patient, maternal tone, until the sheriff in her spoke, "And if you mix them up, so help me, I will melt down your badge into a figurine of me kicking your tail!"

"Y-yes, ma'am!" reeled the giraffe, standing up a bit too quickly to collide with the ceiling (it looked like he was otherwise in the habit of crouching through average-height buildings, a frequent but unavoidable societal nuance for giraffes outside of their own community) but was cushioned by an overhead pillow, another species-specific workplace accessory for the extraordinarily tall.

"Sit _down_ ," she sighed, "Process it at your desk first, and _then_ put it in the evidence locker after you upload the information onto the precinct server, but make sure you set the microwave with my dinner on your way to the locker. If you're timely, you'll finish when the microwave does." After a solid beat to ensure that Legrand was getting right on it, she waved the three smaller mammals with her down the hall, "Alright, let's see what Mr. Hopps has to say for himself, and let me know if he makes any more snide comments," she directed at Judy, "I've got plenty of scolding to go around."

"You don't think you were a bit harsh with him?" Judy asked, looking over her shoulder at a busied giraffe

"Nah," she neighed, "He's a smart kid, just needs direction, is all," and from her smile turned a professional grimace, "Cards on the table, guys, Grav has absolutely _no_ prior history of anything like this, not even a parking ticket or an overdue library book, so this tells me he's either some kind of high-functioning sociopath, or covering for someone."

The rabbit's ears twitched, "He says you're 'not wrong'," she reported, and then frowned with a quick skip to close the distance between herself and the doorway leading to the holding cells, "I'm _not_ telling her that!" Judy chastised, leaning around the corner.

"But it's a compliment!" the others heard him say when they stepped up. There was Grav, leaning on the bars of his cell, paws hanging lazily with no attempts to hide at how smug he felt. When they all approached, he raised a paw and wiggled his fingers in greeting, shifting fluidly to a polite, perky individual, again, making no attempts to hide the transition, "Well _howdy_ , friends! If I knew I was having company, I would've spruced the place up a bit, put out some lemonade, slipped into something a little more…" and knocked on one of the bars, "comfortable.

"Now, you're probably wondering why I called you all here this evening, and I'll be honest," he laughed, "I was wondering that myself. The long and short of it is, I was just trying to have a civil talk with my bestest buddy here," and gestured to Judy, "When she decided to bring you lot along. But, now that you're here, I'll have to make do. So!" he grinned and propped his elbows up against a horizontal bar to rest his cheeks in his palms, "What say we open things up with some questions? Anything goes, no holds," and winked, " _bar_ red."

Sheriff Longmare stood the closest (by a small margin of Judy standing one pace nearer and holding her hips), arms crossed over her chest as she stared down at him, "Cut the custard, Mr. Hopps, you heard everything that was said in this office as soon as you stepped through those doors, but let's focus on your involvement with the TBR, and _why_ you were so 'sad' that you couldn't attend the pie-eating contest. What were you expecting to happen?"

He didn't answer immediately, or in any appreciable amount of time, only sliding back into a pretentious state as his eyes, as they always were, remained on Judy. When he _did_ answer, there was no audible talking, only moving lips and rasping. This, interestingly, arched the brows of Nick and Judy in quite the opposite directions, hers in disgust and his in intrigue.

"I'm afraid my bunny-speak is heavily accented with logic," Nick swiftly said, turning to address Rachel while also gaining the attention of those outside the jail cell, "but unless I'm mistaken, he said 'you can go soak your head and leave it to those of us that matter'. A little cryptic, but roughly translated I _think_ he wants to speak with us alone, or else he'll lawyer up."

Rachel's nostrils flared anew, but her hooves went to her hips with a flick of her tail, "Think you city-cops can handle one little troublemaker?" she poised.

"We've got this covered," assured Judy in her archetypal determination.

The horse's ears perked at the telltale beeping of microwave buttons, "Guess I'll go reduce the chances of biting someone's head off, then. Holler if you need anything, officers; toilet's further down and on the right." With a final nod of mutual understanding from both Hopps and Wilde, Longmare glanced to the delinquent before exiting through the door and out of sight.

"I didn't know you spoke bunny," Gideon hushed, leaning towards Nick to do so and even putting a paw up to his mouth, under the false impression that it would keep what he said unheard.

"He reads lips," Judy explained, "but that's _not_ what was said, was it Slick?"

"What _was_ said was uncouth, demeaning, and - from the little I know of her - Rachel doesn't deserve that kind of shabby treatment," Nick elaborated in a low but otherwise normal, conversational tone, mainly to Gideon, "Time is of the essence, because I'd bet my tail we have until Longmare finishes that casserole to get what information we can out of _Psycho, Jr._ over there before he calls in daddy's team of attorneys, and more likely than not, ends this investigation before it starts.

"So!" Nick continued, turning on a heel to directly address the eavesdropping butterscotch rabbit with dark coffee spots running up the back of his head and ears, "Mr. Hopps, _Hopps_ y, The _Hopps_ ter, Lord _Hopps_ ington," he prattled on, smiling and gesturing wide before clasping both paws behind his back, "I think we got off on the wrong foot today."

"You're dead set on annoying me," Grav immediately said with a self-important smirk.

"Oh, I'm already there," replied Nick, leaning forward, " _this_ is shooting the breeze."

" _This_ is a waste of your time, fox," and gestured with a lazy waggle of his finger, "and the clock's counting down to my boredom; tick tock, tick tock."

Nick shrugged and rolled his eyes to prompt Gideon in a double-team fake-out… only to find his distracted cousin sniffing at the air, and so continued on his own, "Really, Greg, as if I needed any important information out of _you_. Mommy and Daddy already told me everything I needed to know. It was written all over their faces, plain as day, and let's be honest, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he said, and then smirked, "I came around to find out how you're still standing after taking a fox-taser to the groin less than twelve hours ago."

Grav's ears twitched, glancing first to Nick, and then to Judy, and back to Nick - all the room's denizens he thought worth looking at, "It's 'Grav', not 'Greg', but points for trying, I understand that monosyllabic names can be troubling for your ilk. So, about those questions you're all _dying_ to ask me…?"

"Why Gideon?" Judy immediately asked, arms crossed as she interposed herself between the two. Her own keen ears could hear all that happened in the break room down the hall, and it impressed the importance of succinct interrogation.

"Convenience, mostly," he replied, still grinning as he leaned on the bars, looking directly into her eyes, "First fox at the TBR? Can't let _that_ slide. Messages need sending to all those bone-gnawers out there, big and small, that a fox will _not_ be suffered… unless they, themselves, _suffer_."

"Oh, what a _lie_ ," Nick said under his breath. Ever since Judy first heard Grav's distinctive vocals as only a bunny could, it became clearer and clearer to the taller fox that they were undeniably interwoven with the investigative process, even though they were well out of their jurisdiction and the case was in the capable hooves of Bunnyburrow's finest. This meant that their combined vigilance and observational skill set (which required patience, concentration, and paying specific degrees of attention that Nick would rather keep at a minimum for the sake of his mental comfort) to detect lies would prove not only invaluable, but absolutely necessary.

"Except he never actually applied as a vendor, all that was done for him; easy enough to omit if no one wanted him there," dismissed Judy, "And don't be cute, you're awful at it." Gideon bit back a laugh, to her amusement and Grav's flickering calm. "I _meant_ back at Woodlands Elementary. The first day you were on the playground, all Gid wanted to do was make friends, but for _some_ reason you made him into a pariah. Why?"

Grav's fingers drummed on the bar, blinking slowly so to exaggerate a heavy, weary sigh, "My life story? _That_ 's what you want to know? Fine," and slung his arms through the bars once more in a slump, "Rabbits are happy-go-lucky idiots, Judy, don't deny it," he pointed at her, "And don't pretend that the thought hasn't crossed your mind, because it has."

"Don't assume to know _any_ thing-!" she began, but stopped short to Grav's obnoxious shushings.

"Oi', babe, you asked a question, so have the decency to listen to the answer. And don't worry," he cooed, ears swiveling, "The long face of the law is still waiting on her casserole, in fact, it should be done… _now_ ," to which the audible chime of the microwave rang down the hall. Nick's brow furrowed as he glanced over his shoulder, and then back to Grav. "Now where was I… yes, bunnies are angelic little idiots, but _foxes_ are devils incarnate. They're right up there with wolves as the top ne'er-do-wells in the lore of any species. Not much fox lore to go off of, sad to say, _that_ 's jealously guarded and mostly oral, so it's a lot of secondhand accounts at the best of times," he sighed, and drew a lamenting circle on his arm.

"Does this have a point?" Gideon huffed.

"I was born in the city, as I'm sure you guessed," ignored Grav, "Until twenty-ish years ago when daddy dearest moved out to Bunnyburrow to get back to his roots with Uncle Stu. He didn't farm, of course, but saw the potential in farm-fresh foods," and quietly moaned in reverence, "Ah, 'potential', what a word to attach an idea to," which then faded to lethargy, "Chunky Gunky over there had _so_ much potential. When I heard about meeting my very first fox at the tender age of six, I could hardly contain my young, impressionable self. First day at some backwater school, only me and my boyish charm to get by, I anticipated meeting this _fox_ I was warned about. Big, toothy, strong, and _powerfully_ ugly, I knew in the depths of my being that I was going to find someone _worth_ emulating. A real _monster_. The thing of _nightmares_. What I, in my little bunny body feared above - or below - all else." He then rolled his eyes and threw himself back from the bars, flicking his wrist with contempt, "And I get _that_ goofy disappointment."

The other three stood in a state of mild confusion as Grav groaned and shook his head, turning his back to them. Gideon finally spoke up - with permissible indignation - and approached the cell, " _That_ 's why you tormented me? 'Cause I made nice? Maybe I _should_ 've growled and snapped after all, scare some sense-!"

"Yes!" barked Grav, turning on him impatiently and looking at him for the first time, "I would have appreciated that, but it's too late now, isn't it. You met my dad, he's a serial killer without the body count, which was all well and good but he was _gone_ most days. I had to find _some_ one to aspire to; I had my mom, sure, she was an option but she's my _mom_ , I can't very well bring her to school, you know."

"How serious is he?" Judy whispered to Nick, taking advantage of the stouter fox's apt diversionary exchange with Grav.

"Hard to say," he whispered back, leaning in with hinted worry, "He's an excellent liar and I'm getting mixed signals." Nick could ascertain that Grav was disappointed with Gideon, but the problem was it didn't make _sense_ to him, which was why the substantial worry he felt managed to seep out in hinting dribs-and-drabs.

Gideon stood upright and crossed his arms, to which Grav mimicked, "Just _what_ is your problem?" he demanded.

"I'm forced to deal with blithering idiots on a constant basis," beamed the butterscotch rabbit in a sucrose voice, putting his fingers into the dimples of his cheeks.

"That is his sincere assessment," Nick reported discretely, nose nearly touching Judy's ear.

"Yeah, no kidding," Judy responded, and gingerly pushed his face away as she stepped forward to put an arm to Gideon's elbow, to which he stepped aside. "I'm hard pressed to believe that you acted alone, Grav. Who put you up to it?" she inquired, holding her hips in an assertive stance.

" _Now_ or… back _then_?" he smiled coyly. To which Nick stepped forward, flanking Judy with Gideon as they looked on in a moment of bemusement, to which Grav cooed wistfully, "We'll assume you meant back then, when bunnies didn't bother crawling out of the dirt they grew their carrots in. Both of my parents _firmly_ believed in the possibilities available to bunnies if they knew how to act and think. As for myself, I sometimes wondered how I'd be as a predator, you know, one of the bigger ones, maybe a tiger or a polar bear. All that _potential_ for bloodthirst and death," but he shrugged, "Until I thought about Gunky, and I knew I could make a _much_ better fox than him," he drank in the looks of disgust and derision from the scarlet predators, "Why, if _I_ were a fox-"

"You'd have a negative score," Judy interjected merrily, decisively, and - most important of all - smugly. It got the reaction she wanted, namely from Grav as he tripped over his own exposition with a bewildered look, because the fact of the matter is the reference was completely lost on him with no way to cover up how he should or shouldn't respond. Until it became painfully clear that he was out on some fox-joke that Judy was all too in on, and it stiffened his ears quite a bit.

"That was _brutal_ ," commended Gideon with a snap of his fingers.

"I should check the first aid kit for some ointment, for Gary's burns," suggested Nick.

The effect was as Judy anticipated, countering his mockery with some of her own, "Slip me some pad, slyboys," she said, holding her palms out to either fox, to which they promptly, and smugly, clapped.

"It's ' _Grav'_ ," he fumed, fists curling with audible cracking of his knuckles, but then his fingers relaxed, and once more approached the bars, eyes dark with animosity as he looked directly at Judy, and then to Gideon, "Odd coincidence, wouldn't you say, that Travis Blackfoot came to Woodlands not long after I did?" he said, once more sucking in the atmosphere of the room, "That, for some reason, he _pops_ up from out of nowhere and starts acting all buddy-buddy at _that_ exact time? Judy, you know when I'm talking about, right?" A leer crawled up his cheeks, determined to lance any jubilation from the trio outside the holding cell, " _That_ day? I remember it _quite_ vividly, as I'm sure everyone here does… everyone except _him_ ," and he pointed to Nick.

The air grew heavy, and Gideon seemed to remember something, his crossed arms loosening to scratch at the pelt on his wrist, but Judy was the stony fulcrum on which the world balanced. "At the risk of playing into his clutches, what is he talking about?" asked Nick, addressing the former Woodland students on his side of the cell door.

"I had it made into a plaque, Judy, so I can read it every morning, or whenever I begin to doubt myself and need encouraging," he continued, reaching his arms through the bars to cup his mouth, and quoted in a low, cruel tone, "'He can't help it, Grav, he's a _fox_ '."

Judy did not falter, but rather squared her shoulders against his slow, taunting applause… and it was her eyes locked on Grav which kept the varied, but still hurt expressions of her 'slyboys' in the peripheral of her vision.

"I spent _months_ trying to get that big bad fox to show, and all it took was a single sentence to remind him of what he is," Grav said, "After that, Travis went in to rev his engine, but he was hardly necessary, not with _Judy Hopps_ playing hero. It was _artful_."

"Travis was my _friend_ ," Gideon finally asserted with a jabbing finger, even daring a step forward.

"Operative word: 'was'. What _ever_ could have happened to him after they took you away, I wonder. Did he stick around, perhaps? Did he _wait_? Maybe he was there with a baseball and mitt for a game of catch, or a kite to fly on sunny days. Maybe you two ran off into the woods to resume your boyish adventures, skipping through fields of wildflowers, _tra la la_. Hmm?"

Gideon didn't answer.

"No, because _I_ had him hang around to keep you hating, to encourage every act of bullying, and it _worked_ ; all the way up to Carrot Days when you finally, _finally_ showed everyone the big, bad predator you _really_ are," and Grav chuckled a hollow, spiteful chuckle, "The _only_ reason he liked you, Gunky, was because I told him to, and nothing else."

"Now, see, that last part is a lie," Nick butted in, disrupting Gideon's choked expression, "Which tells me that this 'Travis Blackfoot' guy really _did_ like you, Bangs, and Grover here knows it," he postulated with a rubbing of his chin, "You know, there's a 'Travis Blackfoot' - a ferret, if memory serves, and still has a subtle farmyard accent - that acts in a small theatre down on Flock Street near Downtown Zootopia. I can easily get his number once I return to the city, as well as a true account of what _really_ happened," and shot Grav a smirk with a waggling arch of his eyebrows.

"Hah!" barked Gideon, and stepped in until he was nearly against the bars, paws on his knees as he addressed a bored, disappointed looking Grav, "Hear that? You ain't nuthin' but a big, fat-" and promptly choked as the tie he wore, the one with the mustard stain at the end, the one Nick relinquished for only a few minutes but Gideon wore instead to tease the taller fox, hung well within the rabbit's reach.

" _Yes_ , secret's out, I guess, Travis _liked_ you," hissed Grav, wrenching the tie in both paws as he leaned back to slam Gideon's face into the bars and hold him there as the tie cinched tighter around his neck. The fox's claws grabbed for purchase at the cell door, tail flailing and feet stamping the ground.

"Grav, stop it!" Judy immediately commanded, her mind whirling as she swept the room for the nearest something to cut the tie with.

"Stay out of this, Judy, or I'll pop his head off here and now," Grav warned around the rasping coughs. "Now you listen to me, you sad excuse for a predator," snarled the rabbit, his face nearly touching Gideon's through the bars, but did not get a chance to finish his ultimatum.

Nick slipped in, weaving an arm through the frantic limbs to grab at the flicking, narrower length of tie with a swift tug, and in a sudden whine of whipping fabric, the knot undid to slip out of Gideon's shirt collar, thus sending both he and Grav reeling backwards, the latter deftly regaining balance while the former was deftly steadied by Judy. Snatching the narrow end of the tie out of the air, Nick yanked it from the hooligan's surprised paws, "You," the taller fox said, waggling the neck ornament at his cousin, "have lost tie privileges," and popped his collar to snap his wrist, tie the knot, and recomplete his iconography.

"How…?" asked a dumbfounded Grav, looking at his own empty paws, and then to Nick.

"Fox secret, you wouldn't understand," he said matter-of-factly, and tugged on the narrower end to release the special, 'quick-escape' knot taught by his father, and then in the wink of an eye his fingers were a flurry as he redid it once more, and straightened it. "So, Bangs, what do you have to say for yourself, nearly dying from so _obvious_ a ruse?" asked Nick, fully turning his back on the holding cell (and ensuring that no part of him was within arm's reach), paws on his hips to emphasize the scolding look.

"Nick, _really_ , this isn't something to joke about," berated Judy, but as Gideon touched her paw and cleared his throat in a distinctly grateful kind of way, she looked up at him and his forming smirk.

The stouter fox straightened up and fixed his collar, slipping a paw into one pocket as he gestured to Grav, "Y'see Jude, Stretch, as soon as I stepped in here I noticed an odd smell, but needed to get closer to be sure," he began in a clearing rasp, and addressed the butterscotch rabbit, "Since _you_ 're so interested in what happened to me after Carrot Days, Grav, I'll tell ya'.

"I got expelled from Woodlands and put in a special class for troubled young preds, called ourselves the 'Lost Boys'. It was me, another fox, a bear, a skunk, a pair of raccoon twins, and…" he paused, and slowly approached the holding cell, still smirking and much smugger than before, "A _bunny_."

Grav scoffed, his eyes dark but not their darkest, "You say that as if I cared."

"This whole farmyard mentality confuses me," Nick admitted, one arm crossed over his chest as the other lazily pointed at Gideon while pivoting and stepping back, "I can understand 'young' - and maybe the 'troubled' part leads into it - but how does a _bunny_ get lumped with preds?"

Judy gasped and clasped her cheeks, "I think I know how! Some bunnies, especially when they're really young, would eat _bugs_ ; it happens with all species, actually. Bunny parents always discourage it because it usually induces vomiting and nausea. I had two brothers and a sister that did it (I think one of them was mimicking the others, though), but they outgrew it while still in diapers."

Gideon watched as Grav's eyes sank deeper and deeper into an abyssal black, his fingers wrapping around the bars until the pelt stretched tight over them. He screwed his courage to the sticking place and kept on, "Well, this one bunny kept on eating them up through grade school, except what _I_ heard is he pounced a bird and took a big bite out of it."

"Yes, that sounds like normal, untroubled, young pred behavior," Nick grinned.

"Did it in front of a bunch of other bunnies and prey, too, so they put him in the 'Lost Boys'," Gideon continued, "He didn't stop pouncing, neither, mainly bugs, but also birds and lizards when he could get 'em, even got me more than a few times, and lemme tell ya', you don't forget the smell of bug-breath too easily, especially from a bunny. Now, I dunno what Grav here's been up to since I last seen him at Woodlands, but I can place a sure wager on what he's been _eatin'_!"

Grav loosed a guttural bellow to force a full step back from each of the three, and then he clenched his jaw, "I have it," he snarled, "I. Have. _It_." Judy once explained to Nick and Gideon about how she intimately braided emotions with an individual's voice - how Nick filled her with electrifying urgency and Gideon beckoned her to help and aid - Grav's empathic void was as plain to her as the nose on his face, and now the foxes fully grasped the "nothing" which spiked the fur on the nape of their neck.

" _I_ have your nightmares, Gideon, which you scream yourself awake from to escape what you hopelessly believe is the refuge of sleep. _I_ have the flashes of terror in your waking hours that seize your very _soul_ until all you can do is cower in vain attempts to forget. They're all _mine_ ," growled the rabbit, making the cage shake as he jostled the cell door, "because _I_ have what made them."

For an eternal second, no one spoke via their mouths, only their eyes; realization dawned on the trembling blue of Gideon, as it also did on the resolute violet of Judy and resilient green of Nick; but then Grav's black went wide as he caught them and their susurrant fear. The snarl fell, but only so his face could split with a demonic leer that showed not only his teeth, but his gums as well. " _You_ … know?" he taunted in a voice made gravelly with creeping cackles that grew loud and shrill until it was _not_ mocking laughter, but instead a mockery _of_ laughter, "You _know_!

"How did they find out, _Gideon_?" he spat, and though the name was correct it still felt like a cruel jab, especially when his face formed a momentary, insulting pout, "Did you _cry_ when you confessed those deepest, darkest secrets? Did _some_ one accidentally discover them by getting _too close_?" he asked as he glanced between Judy and Nick with an accusatory, respective quirking of each eyebrow, and then laughed his _falsetto_ once more. "Of course, you can't… _really_ know, can you?" he continued, quietly, pressing his face against the gap between the bars with impish glee, "After all, _you_ weren't there to witness it."


	13. Chapter 13

Sheriff Rachel Longmare sat in the station's break room, feeling - perhaps for the first time that day - at ease. The microwave hummed to reheat a welcomed meal so courteously provided by trusted citizen Gideon Grey. Granted, _he_ didn't make it, but ever since his bakery opened up, the stout fox supplied pastries and other such baked goods to the station on a nearly regular basis; time was a week couldn't pass unless _some_ one from the prey community called about "suspicious activity" from the newly opened "pred bakery" on the edge of town, so any officer sent to "investigate" went with a list of orders from the rest of the station (which the fox was thoughtful enough to start a tab for). Rachel always got a nicker of amusement at the irony that it was those multitude of complaints from neighboring businesses that, ultimately, kept Gideon Grey's Real Good Baked Stuff afloat during the early days of the pred-scare.

Glancing at the nuker, the horse was grateful that he didn't bring anything from his shop tonight; late-night sweets always caused her some manner of indigestion, and Bonnie Hopps's home-cookery was just the wholesome thing she needed, even if it did have a certain mass-produced taste to it. Having to make food for hundreds of hungry mouths always boggled the equine - she only had two colts and a filly herself, which was plenty of hooves trotting about for her and her mate to handle. Rachel let herself relax further at the thought of her stallion as the white noise of the microwave and subtle smell of warming food gave the mare a severely needed calm. After all, none other than Judy Hopps was dressing down the perp in the other room, no doubt telling him what for…

That bunny had a brighter future than any Rachel saw, and she'd seen a lot. Plenty of rabbits (well, a select few such that she - a horse - did not need all her hooves to count them) tried for a spot in the sheriff's posse but none made the cut for some reason or another. Rachel was so _sure_ that Judy would be the first, and how amazing that would be; _Sheriff_ Judy Hopps. With her at the helm, the entire Burrow would be a better place. Bunnies were funny like that, and it was something Rachel's mate always joked of. All it took was one bunny to lead the rest to a single cause, and eventually, all of them would be on board backing that single long-eared figurehead like iron shavings to a magnet. Her mate continued to joke that rabbits could very well change the course of society because they were small and unassuming enough to be dismissed, but populous and determined enough to affect real change. Rachel's mind drifted in her borderline complacency at the fancifulness of _rabbits_ changing the world. No single species of mammal could do that, but Judy was big enough to get the world pointed in right direction, at least, an inspiration not only to bunnies, but horses, sheep… foxes.

As the microwave hummed on, Rachel's closed eyes hooded and her chin rested on folded hooves. She worried once that Judy's dream ended before it started. It wasn't an hour since her Carrot Days stage play that Gideon attacked her… She watched those two grow up from embittered, bickering youths to civil, cooperative adults, a feat that some of the same species - _family_ members, even - had trouble accomplishing; yet a bunny and a fox were in _her_ station, working together to protect the innocent. Rachel chuckled. Only Judy Hopps could make her worst enemy into a trusted ally.

And then there was the _other_ bunny and fox to consider. Grav Hopps _never_ tripped her sheriff's sense; good upbringing, always polite and respectful, maybe a little mischievous on the rare occasion, but at that age, who wasn't? He was practically a male, butterscotch version of Judy… except Judy was always wary and distant of Grav. Maybe _that_ should've tipped her off, but she always figured it was some kind of bashfulness. And this other fox, this _Nick Wilde_ character, of course she heard about him, he sent ripples through the grapevine just the same as Judy did. A fox in uniform? Rachel never thought she'd see the day. Yet here he comes, out of the blue with what could be one of the biggest cases to really hit Bunnyburrow since the pred-scare last year, or even that "Missing Prince" fiasco from over twenty years ago…

The microwave chimed its completion of timely nourishment to draw Longmare up from her seat and reverie. Provided Officer Legrand did as she instructed of him, that "toxic whipped cream" should be in the system by now and the investigation initiated (if at least on paper), and with a few strings pulled, maybe they can get the substance in question tested for Night Howler sooner rather than later. Her nostrils flared at the scent of warmed three-bean casserole as she peeled the plastic lid back fully, looking down at the numerous shades of green comprising her dinner. At the table, Rachel forewent her hoof-utensils to, instead, lift the plasticware to her lips and chow down; she was a horse, after all, and circumstances being what they were, allowed her to eat like one. "Ahh… Bonnie's 'secret' carrot-and-zucchini sauce… good for the soul," she whinneyed. Sheriff Rachel Longmare, respected by those who knew her and feared by those who dare step out of line of the law, savored the simple pleasure of eating a mother-made meal like a filly.

The serenity stretched until shattering at a horrid, carnal scream, causing Rachel to spray her current mouthful of casserole across the table and drop the plasticware. Her ears were to the ceiling, one half of her body calling every honed muscle and reflex to action while the other sent waves of apprehension from head-to-hoof. "What in blazes was _that_?" she blurted out around choking coughs, disregarding the mess of food to rise from her chair, staring hard at the doorway with one hoof to the tabletop and the other hovering over her taser. Sure and swift, she ducked into the hallway and galloped down to the holding cells, stopping only when her blood froze at what was certainly the most terrifying cackle she ever had the misfortune to hear. Rachel wasn't any kind of superstitious sort, but darn it all, that… _noise_ sure-as-shootin' caught a lump in her throat.

Any sheriff worth their salt is not stayed by fear for very long, though, and soon enough, Longmare swung into the room, sweeping for what she assumed was some instigator that she hadn't yet seen. Her protective attention eventually fell upon Nick, Judy, and Gideon, standing a bit far back from a sweetly smiling, ever-amiable Grav Hopps.

"Welcome back, sheriff!" he delightfully greeting over the heads of the others, "I think I'm ready to speak with my team of lawyers now, if that's okay with you?"

The air was tense in that room, but from the best that Rachel could determine no one else heard the scream or the cackle. She eyed them each, one-by-one: both Nick and Judy acted as if nothing were amiss, but Gideon gave it away that _some_ thing happened by his obvious, but residual, anxiety. Additionally, Rachel couldn't help but notice that Nick was now wearing Gideon's tie, although she couldn't fathom the significance of such a trifle, if there _were_ significance at all. "So," the horse prompted, calmly, and though her taser were still holstered, she re-clipped its strap to let her arm relax, "how'd it go?"

"Stick a fork in it, 'cause we're done here," Gideon immediately said with a casual grin and a turn of his heel, pivoting with such sporadic assurance that, if he were much closer, his sweeping tail sweeping might've hit Grav square in the face.

Nick slipped both paws into his pockets with a smirking shrug, "He's told us all we need to know," and glanced over a shoulder, "Enjoy your stay at the Holding Cell Motel, Graham, I recommend taking advantage of the continental breakfast."

Judy, less smug than her vulpine cohorts, pointed to her eyes with a finger for each, and then spun her wrist to sternly gesture at Grav; this barely registered with him, which she rightly figured. So, perhaps _more_ telling was the severe intent with which she directed her ears at him; _this_ flickered his sucrose falsehood.

"Roger that," confirmed Longmare, and then spoke into the walkie talkie on her shoulder, with a soft, electronic cough, "Legrand, d'you have eyes on the cell?"

"Yes, ma'am," coughed the walkie-talkie, the giraffe's languid voice otherwise loud and clear, even if it sounded slightly shaken, "Over."

"Right then," and Rachel clopped her hooves together as she stepped aside so that her fellow officers and a key witness to the case could exit the holding cells, and though she was quite sure that Grav could hear everything she said, even out in the hall, she addressed them as though in a private conversation, "Wilde, Hopps, anything worth summarizing about the five minutes I was out of the room?"

Judy took point, "Nothing about the case itself that you haven't already figured, unfortunately. Aside from personal barbs, Grav's shut up tight as a drum, and he looks ready to camp out in that cell before squawking."

"We can say with some certainty, however, that he's _not_ working alone," Nick added, and then retrieved his phone with a typing flurry of his thumbs, "From _whom_ his instructions come is still an unknown, though." Presenting the screen with a finger to his lips, he showed Longmare what he typed out: _Magnus Hopps(?)_. Rachel reeled as quietly as she could, looking with uncertainty to the agreeing nods of Judy and Gideon after they, too, read the message. "Well!" said Nick, and then yawned, "It has been a day, and I think I speak for the three of us when I say we're quite tuckered out."

"You speak for yourself, Slick," teased Judy, "I could go for another _two_ days if I wanted."

" _Do_ you want to?" responded Nick, turning towards the station's entrance and stashing his phone once more.

"Good heavens, _no_ ," she scoffed, "but I could if need be."

"I don't mind the speaking for on bein' tuckered," responded Gideon, as he followed suit behind Nick and Judy, "I s'pose I'm driving Stretch here back to my parents' house, and I'll be good staying there for the night. How 'bout you, Jude, need a ride anywhere?"

"I guess I'll tag along," pondered Judy, and took out her phone not to type secret, silent missive for her cohorts but a text to her own parents, "I've still got plenty of catching up to do with Esther, and it wouldn't be the first time I spent the night."

Rachel nickered, and gave her head a flick as a few more strands of her mane dislodged from the tight bun intended to hold them back, "And how _is_ my 'bangs-sister'? I can see you and she had yourselves some toe-treatment today," she pointed out, to which Judy paused to admire the rosy-red pedicure she got alongside Esther earlier that day, "Maybe tomorrow she and I can get our manes done, if she's available."

The connection formed between females during simultaneous cosmetic modifications - and the peripheral appreciation from other females about said modifications - was perhaps lost on the nearby males. Nick, whose skill in reading others was undoubtedly masterful, understood the emotional bonds strengthened through like activity, and Gideon, whose personal experience of an older sister with gal friends gave him applicable firsthand knowledge, also understood… Analogously, either _understood_ that gears inside of a clock moves its hands to tell time, yet the intricate pattern of kinetic transference along those gears might very well be quantum mechanics. However, though they didn't _get_ it, they knew the crucial information that any interruption on _their_ part would only prolong the exchange.

Patience eventually paid off, Nick with his paws folded behind him, Gideon with his paws in his pockets, and each did their best not to look bored or hurried until Judy managed to break away from her visibly cathartic conversation with Rachel. She lead them out past Officer Legrand, bidding the giraffe a one-sided "good night" and appreciation for his help; Legrand's response was vehemently disinterested, borderline apathetic, but sparked with professional courtesy after a poignant huffing from Sheriff Longmare's nostrils. The cool night air and Gideon's van greeted their exit from the sheriff's office.

"When do you think it would be safe to talk, Carrots?" asked Nick, performing a cursory, if half-hearted, sweep of the area by spinning once as he walked, "Every minute spent in Bunnyburrow is a new reminder of how little my street smarts affords me out here."

"Inside the van and ambulant," Judy answered with a decisive point of her finger.

"A'ight, Stretch, let's have those keys," said Gideon, holding out his paw to catch an expected airborne keyring, but only got a confused quirked eyebrow and an open-palmed shrug.

"I gave them back to you after I turned the van off," Nick said flatly.

"You did no such thing."

"Yes I _did_ , I gave them back by leaving them on the dashboard in plain sight," he continued, and then pointed through the windshield to the dull glimmer of keys inside, " _See_ , there they are," and earned a groaning facepalm from his cousin. "What, don't blame _me_ that you didn't notice, even if - I'll admit - what Judy said about a score going away was a bit diverting. I figured you had them when you opened the backdoor of the van, _twice_."

"I unlocked it from the button near the steering wheel, Stretch, and didn't bother locking it up again because I figured no one would be dumb enough to steal out of a van in front of the _sheriff_ 's office," he huffed, and then stomped over to the driver's side door to pull the handle, only to find it providing undue resistance. His forehead leaned forward and collided on the window with a soft 'thunk', "Jude, please check the other door…"

As requested, the rabbit hopped over from her simmering partner to reach up and find that it was, indeed, "Also locked, which is _kinda_ my fault, as I tend to lock car doors if I'm the last one out as a matter of habit… I could call my Dad-?"

"No!" Nick said louder than he intended, breathed, and repeated, likewise approaching the vehicle, " _No_. We don't need another opportunity for Magnus to know of our circumstances, sheriff's office or not, and _that_ would roll out the red carpet."

"You've lost driving privileges, Stretch," Gideon said dully, staring at the keys on his dashboard, and then reached for his phone.

"Oh _please_ , this circus of errors was a group effort. Look, give that roadside assistance of yours another call and we'll wait inside the sheriff's office until they come," he suggested, "I'm sure they get keys out of locked cars all the time."

"One step ahead of you," grunted Gideon, raising an arm to lean an elbow against the van as he studied the screen on his phone, "Huh, I guess I never ended the first Head-to-Tow call, 'cause it's still counting down an ETA."

"There, see? Everything works out," smirked Nick, "GPS still active, I'd wager, so they'll meet us here without too much hassle, probably wondering how a bottomed-out van got so mobile."

"I'm guessing this tow truck was called while I was still under," Judy speculated as she plopped her seat down on the front bumper and leaned against the grill, "and promptly forgotten about once a certain lion came to help out."

The lankier fox sprawled belly-down on the hood, arms folded as he stared at the keys he set on the dashboard, wondering if it were possible to will their obedience into his grasp. "Two-for-two, Carrots, but a quick question, since we're stranded for the interim. Ever since you woke up, I couldn't help but notice a certain… far off concentration on your face that crops up from time-to-time. Its significance eluded me until I saw you conversing with Grav down the hall, so what I'm wondering is this: just _who_ are you talking to?" he asked, and propped his grinning head up.

She pulled her knee close while keeping a heel braced into the ground, head laid back as she stared up at the stars, ears flopped lazily across the hood of the van. Gideon kept his elbow against the van's frame as he quietly joined the conversation, a palm to his hip and one leg crossed over the other. Judy had good reason to choose her words carefully, thumbs thoughtfully tapping the knee she held before she spoke, "We'll say… that you _actually_ know his name, Slick," and then winked.

Nick grinned wider, ears almost erect as he pointed discreetly under a shoulder, "Does… _Bangs_ know his name?" he said, to which Gideon blinked in confusion.

"Wait, whose name?"

"He _does_ ," Judy affirmed, and craned her neck to address him, "Isn't that right, Gid? You know _his_ name, but you might not know _him_." When the response was only a bemused frown, the rabbit continued, " _He_ actually resembles you, according to Nick."

The blue eyes were narrowed at first as the idea rolled about in his mind and gradually widened, "Oh!" and leaned forward in harsh whisper, "You're not talking about that 'Dawson' thing Stretch here was on about, are you?"

Judy tapped her nose, pivoting so that she instead stood with a foot propped on the bumper, and leaned to that raised knee, "The very same."

"I knew it," said Nick triumphantly, smugly, "I _wondered_ where he went off to, but I guess I was only in 'communication' with him with forty-eight hours before _'it'_ ran its course, but I'm sure you as a _bunny_ will enjoy his company for much longer."

She smirked and shrugged half-heartedly, "Unlike you, Slick, I've got years of mental training to bolster me. So, while Dawson was something of a hindrance to _you_ , for me he's more of a… an assistant, that only I can see and hear."

"Well, lookie here," gasped Gideon as he pointed to his phone, "The tow truck's only another minute out, and with it some _sanity_ ," he emphasized towards the other two, "Maybe this is why rabbits and foxes weren't allowed to mingle, because they pile on each other's _crazy_."

"And I suppose _bears_ are a notable source of common sense?" teased Nick, idly scratching under his chin; though not actually facing Gideon he knew full well that the other fox's face was distorted in curious incredulity. When he did finally turn, he was met with the expected expression changing into rigorous thought.

"You looked up his website for Head-to-Tow, didn't ya'?" reasoned Gideon, "And found out that Bruno De Yae's a bear."

"Given enough time, I know everybody," stated Nick, "As it so happens, 'head-to-toe' is an generic yet uncommon phrase for 'top-to-bottom' most frequented by either bears or badgers; larger preds are not as often labeled 'crazy' in the same way we smaller preds are. Were the garage owned by a _bunny_ it'd be 'ear-to-toe', and a fox would name it 'head-to-tail', probably with some pun worked in," and then shrugged, "Honestly, Bangs, I didn't think you were so adverse to 'crazy', being a fox and all; like you said, 'it's what we do'."

"I like crazy that don't leave me out of the mix, thank you _very_ much," he huffed.

Judy came around from the front of the van at this and exchanged a surprised look with Nick, "Do you _really_ want Dawson in your head?" she asked, leaning weight onto one leg to rest a paw on her waist, "I wouldn't exactly call it a _'fun'_ experience."

"I guess, but knowing that this 'Dawson' stuff looks like _me_ for whatever reason," he sulked, even though he managed a wry smirk, "and I didn't even give my permission for it. Maybe I should sue; my sister's a lawyer, after all."

"Good luck with that," Nick scoffed, "Besides, Esther's a _defense_ attorney. Not quite what you're going for."

"If it's any consolation, Gid, my 'Dawson'," Judy said, grimacing at how weird it sounded, " _doesn't_ look like you. He's actually a bunny version of Nick," and smiled with a playful backhand at her partner.

" _Pfft_ , bunny-Nick!" laughed Gideon.

"Wait, you've got a _bunny_ -me hopping about your head?" pressed Nick, ignoring the guffaws as he bent over to prod a finger at her brow, "Who else is bunnified in there; Bogo? I'd bet it's Bogo, you'd just _love_ to see him with a cute widdle nose and a fluffy-wuffy tail, wouldn't you."

"Wha-!" she awkwardly denied, shrugging and smiling, "What makes you think _that_?"

Nick gasped and reeled, the finger now accusatory, "You _do_ have bunny-Bogo!"

"Yeah, well, I'll have you know he makes a _very_ dignified rabbit, unlike a certain _some_ one!"

"You deserve _every_ bit of sass he dishes out, imagining your loved ones as bunnies without the decency to even _tell_ them about it," Nick scoffed once more, and then grabbed the tip of her ear and cupped his mouth to talk directly into it, "Show her what for, Dawson!"

Judy staggered and rubbed her ear, "What happens in _my_ head is none of _your_ business," she asserted loftily, and straightened her shirt with a quick tug, "And just for that, I'm changing Dawson's outfit from 'butler' to 'maid'. _That_ 'll show you."

"Fight it, Dawson!" Nick called again, both paws cupping his mouth this time, but then crossed his arms with a quirked brow, "Wait, you can change Dawson's outfit? _I_ couldn't control how he looked, and not by lack of trying, either," pondered Nick with a rub of his chin, "Which is a shame, because one time he showed up as Esther wearing only-"

Gideon announced the arrival of headlights when his phone's ETA clock merrily chimed at all zeroes, and walked nearer the road to flag down what was the second large, approaching truck he and Nick had seen that night. It pulled over and came to a stop nearby, whose door sporting the logo of the Head-to-Tow garage - faded from time in the sun and general wear-and-tear - flew open to reveal not a member of the larger predator species, but a boisterous, grayish-brown rabbit leaping out to land dramatically, "Well, a howdy-do, and a good ev'ning to the lot of ya'!" he called with a broad grin, " _This_ has to be the fastest movin', stuck ve~hicle I'd _ever_ seen, Gid. I'll bet it's a mighty good story, too."

" _Brady_ ," Gideon said with a strained smile, seething in that special way one would as a waiter brings them a food they'll eat, but not what they ordered, "A how-d'you-do right back at'cha," and cleared his throat with a quick wringing of his paws, "Bruno's on that Caribouan Cruise, ain't he."

"You know it," rattled off the truck's driver when the engine died down, and out from the passenger's door slipped a fox even _lankier_ than Nick, "Ol' Bruno drew the long straw on that one, he did, lucky son-of-a-gun if ever there were. So! We'd driven all this way to see to a stuck van, and a stuck van is what we're seein' _to_ , elsewise I'd've not bothered startin' up the truck, no sir."

"As luck would have it, Brett, _some_ one locked my keys in the van," Gideon explained, and tossed a thumb over his shoulder, which was all the prompting Brady needed to slide on past the baker as Brett reached back into the truck to haul out a hefty, age-beaten toolbox, "So I hope you brought your Slim Jim along."

"Ms. Judy Hopps, Bunnyburrow's prettiest belle," declared Brady, beaming brighter in a grand bow that nearly touched his ear tips to the ground, to which Judy accepted with modesty, "I figured you and Bo would be shindiggin' it at the fairgrounds," he grinned, once more upright, "How's a fine lady like yerself get into such a sce~nario as this?"

"Mind your tongue, Brady, or I'll snatch it from that smart mouth o' yours, I will," warned Brett, fishing out the aforementioned Slim Jim so to toss it at the rabbit's general direction and into a deft catch, "You best be gettin' on that door b'fore kickin' your own teeth in."

"I'm havin' myself a civil conversing, Brett," he replied with a shaking of the tool, "and don't you be accusin' otherwise, or it ain't _me_ swallowin' teeth!" and then faced himself to properly address the issue of the van's locked door.

"Welly welly, tuck my tail and and yella my belly, you're that Nick Wilde, ain't ya'?" Brett asked rhetorically with a wide-toothed grin, the toolbox swinging along before dropping with a heavy clatter of the loose implements inside, freeing up his paws that he might grab one of Nick's in a cordial iron grip, "It is an utmost _pleasure_ to meet ya' snout-to-snout, an' tha's the truth."

Nick's jaw clenched in a similarly strained smile as he beared through the momentary pain of what felt like the bones in his paw crushing under farmyard hospitality. "Yes! _Hi_ , or a 'howdy-do', I think it goes," and forced a chuckle to wrench his paw as calmly as possible from the other fox, hiding it behind his back to test its functionality, "I didn't think my infamy extended so far beyond Zootopian city limits," he managed without too many grunts.

"That makes two of us," said Gideon, catching the keys tossed from Brady after a swift, nigh effortless unlocking of the door, "I wasn't out of Preds' Corner _that_ long, was I?"

"Don't go fallin' for any o' his wiles, Brett here's jus' tickled pink to know there's a fox in _some_ kinda au~thority," jabbed Brady.

"Now _what_ did I say 'bout your smart mouth, Brady?" huffed Brett, fists to his waist to emphasize his glare, "You'd best not be a scuffin' all over my honor like I thinks you is."

"You heard me right, Brett, and I'll say whichever smart thing I deem nece~ssary to say, and you'd best deal with the lot of it," and leaned up to return the glare.

Judy stepped adjacent and raised her paws in patient, calming gestures, "Guys, settle, you _are_ in front of the sheriff's office."

"Terr'bly sorry, Ms. Hopps," smiled the rabbit with a rubbing of his nape, "but you know how it is with us bunnies and foxes, sometimes we jus' can't help it," and gestured between the two of them with the Slim Jim.

Brett snatched the tool to toss it into the box, "Well, I won't be shown up for manners, no sir, so I'm _also_ sorry that you had to see that untoward display, Ms. Hopps, it weren't called for."

" _Please_ , it's 'Judy', and I've seen worse at the precinct," she assured with a dismissive push of her paws. Not missing a beat, the greasebunny stooped to cradle one of those extended paws and touch a kiss to the back of it.

"Lookit this _roustabout_ playin' at a gentlemammal," chided Brett, grabbing his fellow mechanic by the collar to drag him and the toolbox back to the truck, "Mark my words, Brady, every bit o' that smart mouth is gonna land you in a _heap_ o' trouble, you'd best believe it, because Mr. Bo Briar will have some _strong_ words about you sweetin' on his lady!"

"I's not bein' sweet, only polite!" said Brady when he managed to writhe free from the iron grip on his shirt, and then tapped an enthusiastic salute from his eyebrow before hopping into the truck after Brett and closing the door, smiling as he waved, "Y'all have yerselves a good night, right? And you'd best call if there's any more pre~dicaments!"

Judy smiled and waved back, as did Gideon before he climbed behind the wheel of his van. Nick remained stoic, but smiled politely as he followed his partner around to the passenger's side. "Such colorful locals you two have here," he remarked, holding the door open with a sweep of his arm, to which Judy pantomimed a curtsey before hopping in.

"Brady Zippa and Brett Paddy," laughed Judy as she buckled herself in, "Maybe Gid's got a point about bunnies and foxes forming a feedback loop on 'the crazy'."

The van revved to life before Nick closed the passenger-side door, scooting into position for the securing of his own seatbelt, "And just think, Carrots, that could be _us_ if given enough time. A bunny and a fox, working together for years, perceived as utterly insane," he said, an arm around her shoulders as he held out his palm as though to present a great expanse before them, "It's the way of the future, you'd best be believin'."

Gideon let out a relieved sigh as he leaned out the window and backed onto the street, "If it puts this whole Night Howler thing behind us, then maybe it won't be _so_ bad."

"Tell me about it," grunted Judy, stretching out her arms and legs, chest arching and toes splaying with a faint groan before reclining in the middle seat, "The issue is in safe hooves with Rachel, so I think we can relax for the night. Rest is as important as work, after all, 'Give your body and mind a chance to unwind', my Uncle Terry always says."

Nick rolled the window down and slung his arm out of it, even inching nearer to get some of the building breeze against his face, "I can't wait to get back to work on Friday, because I'll need a vacation from my vacation."

"What about those darknet assassins?" Gideon frowned, "Aren't they, like, super elite forces out for our heads, or somethin'?"

Judy waved her arm dismissively, unable to promote any real bodily movement as she relaxed in the moment, "A definite concern, Gid, but that takes _time_ , and you two met with Uncle Magnus _maybe_ two hours ago. He is nothing if not a businessmammal, so no matter _how_ much you two riled him, he won't do something rash that will jeopardize his reputation."

"Finnick set up algorithms to alert him if either his or my name pops up on the Darknet," he began, and casually added, "Paranoia keeps you alive, after all, it's something we picked up some years back, and a harder habit to drop than Sugar Rush."

"I _love_ that game," grinned Judy, "Still haven't beaten any Benji's high scores, though…"

"So… there _aren't_ assassins coming for us?"

"We're not saying that," Nick corrected, "We're saying it's unlikely that assassins will come for us _tonight_. Uncle Terry brings up a valid point, Bangs, we need rest. Like I said before, Carrots is our lucky charm in that regard because Magnus isn't stupid enough to endanger her. Besides, Finnick's our ear to the ground and if something goes awry, he'll tell us."

"And that little ploy with Dawson should have them chasing their tails for a while. Nothing quite like an honest lie to give someone the runaround," grinned Judy, and looked up to Gideon's questioning glance, "I do actually see Dawson, but eavesdroppers don't know that it's because Slick's talking about him, and years of mental training mixed with a hallucinogenic drug is what made him. 'Dawson' probably sounds like code for some kind of super advanced, nano-technology communication."

"Okay, sure," he shrugged.

"Bunnies, am I right?" said Nick.

"Bunnies," agreed Gideon, but then smirked, "Hey Jude, how would _I_ look as a bunny?"

Judy took a moment to study him with a quiet tapping of her chin, and then giggled as she cupped her mouth, "Oh, that is _too_ cute."

"R-Really?"

"I'll be taking that fox card, now," Nick said flatly and holding out his palm.

" _Ah ah ah_ ," Judy rebuked, nudging his wrist to gingerly guide it away from Gideon, "Let's not get off subject, Slick, we've still Grav Hopps to go over before arriving at the Grey homestead."

Nick sighed, " _Fine_ , I'll make this as succinct as possible, but no promises. Grav's first lie: Magnus's purpose for coming to Bunnyburrow wasn't to 'get back to his roots'. Carrots, if you'll present your paws, please… thank you," he said, and gently held the rabbit's palms and knuckles, turning them over and stretching the fingers, "You don't need to look, Bangs, but _these_ are digger's paws. Stu has them, Bonnie has them, Bo has them, and of the onslaught of bunnies I saw on the Hopps farm, not a _one_ wasn't that of a digger to some degree; even the hoity-toits occupying Preds' Corner had their fair share."

"You'll be hard pressed to find a city rabbit without a window box, and I'm no exception," Judy said, accepting her paws back, "Dad touts the catharsis of agricultural activities for a rabbit."

Gideon remained quiet a bit as he mulled this over, "And that ain't stereotyping or anything like that?"

"I deviated from carrot farming as a _profession_ , Gid, but I don't mind keeping an herb garden as a hobby."

"It's not unlike a fox doing something absolutely _crazy_ and walking away unscathed," smirked Nick, "As a personal example, have you ever tried some off-the-wall recipe and it worked out better than you could've dreamed?"

The baker's ears went erect as he grinned, overcome with momentary glee, "Well, there was this _one_ time I used tabasco sauce as _icing_ , and _no_ one noticed until I told 'em! The trick was to use peppermint mixed with finely crushed saltine crackers and-"

"A magician doesn't reveal his secrets, Bangs," Nick butt in.

"Right, right. Back to driving."

"Appreciated. Now, neither Grav, Magnus, nor Clea can boast such dainty shovels as these," he continued with a gesture to Judy's paws, "I can understand if they - like her - are thorough washers, but theirs are _immaculately_ clean, the kind of clean only possible if they refrain from gardening or farming entirely. Even after all these years, not what one would expect from a food processing giant 'getting back to his roots', wouldn't you say?"

"It certainly sounds obvious after you explain it, Stretch."

"It really does ruin the mystique, but otherwise I wouldn't get to lord my observational prowess over anyone," grinned the taller fox, "In any case, that's the first point of interest. Second, is the severity of his fixation on predator species. He wishes he were a fox, no doubt getting the opposite effect of all that fun propaganda," and then coughed, "Excuse me, _cautionary tales_ \- about how nasty foxes are, when we are actually the _most_ rad. Truth, Bangs?"

"Preach it!"

"Hallelujah; were it a lie, may lightning strike me down," he proclaimed while holding out his arms, and then continued after a patient, esophageal prompting from Judy, "Anyway, before I continue with my assessment, I have a question. When you smelled Grav's breath, did you detect any vomit?"

"Little bit, which I guess _is_ odd because adults shouldn't be puking from bugs."

"Yeah, I have a few prey friends that eat Bug Burgas from time-to-time without any adverse effects. Like Bo said earlier, it's _bird_ meat that induces vomiting in bunnies after childhood," reported Judy, and then a trepidation gleamed in her eyes, "Nick, you're not implying what I _think_ you're implying, are you?"

"Depends," he said vaguely and propped an elbow on the armrest to set his cheek on its knuckles, "Am I implying that Grav chokes down bird meat? Yes, yes I am."

Judy gagged and held her mouth, "Sweet cheese and crackers…"

The stouter fox grimaced vocally, "That sounds _awful_. Why would he do that to himself?"

"I thought I smelled it earlier today when Grav attempted the up-in-my-grill approach, but I figured he ate that quote-unquote 'pheasant' at the restaurant and couldn't keep it down," Nick explained. "For most of the day, I assumed him a fluffy little ball of spite, but hearing what he had to say on the subject of predators altered my theory a bit. What if he really _is_ what we peg him to be?"

"Psychotic?" remembered Gideon.

"Bingo."

The bunny seemed to collect herself as the gears turned between those long, keen ears, "But he's the son of a psychiatrist, any psychopathy would be weeded out _way_ before he got into the public school system."

"Except signs point strong to Clea's previous identity as Dr. Lapis of noted pred-therapy infamy," he countered, and let the observation hang in the air before continuing, "Knowing what we know about Grav and his parents, I would like to present the next point of interest: Grav is in possession of Gideon's muzzle from pred-therapy," he began and then watched as his cousin stiffened, "You okay over there? Because I will _not_ tolerate another nervous breakdown while you're driving. Remember, I _specifically_ instructed Carrots to slap you if you did."

"N-no, I'm fine, jus' unsettles me, is all. You can keep talking."

"Good," said Nick, "So, Grav also hinted that _he_ was there to see everything that caused all those scars under your fur, which is an entirely different layer of wrong."

"It also implies that Aunt Clea _was_ involved with Gid's pred-therapy," Judy realized, "Otherwise, how else would Grav get there?"

"A-And it means she made him _watch_ …" Gideon added, "Or _let_ him watch?"

Nick sighed, tapping a finger to his knee, "That distinction is moot, if only because they're _both_ horrific."

"It could determine if his carnivorism is involuntary, like some kind of compulsion, but I don't want to dig any deeper than need be," she groaned and rubbed her head, "Okay, so maybe Grav picked up a psychosis thanks to 'Take Your Kid to Work Day' with Aunt Clea. Did you get anything else from what he said, Slick?"

"Mainly that if we need to build a case against Magnus Hopps's character, Grav should either be our key or surprise witness," he explained, "You don't call your own dad a 'serial killer without the body count' unless you have a _deep_ seated hatred for him and everything he is. Which, understandably, one might think is contradictory, but to reiterate, he grew up on stories of the 'savage fox' and yet he wanted to emulate one. Now, I find it hard to believe that with the perception bunnies have and teach their own young that _any_ rabbit would want to be like a fox - present company, excluded. So, _why_ does Grav wish it so badly? Well, I would like to draw brief attention to what he said while in, perhaps, his truest self that I think anyone's seen him, and that he has Gideon's 'nightmares'."

"Wasn't that waxing poetic about my mu-," grunted Gideon, "My muzzle, though?"

"Unless he was being literal," Nick postulated, "When I met her, Clea seemed like a normal, stable rabbit, but when I found out about her maiden name and previous profession it sent a cold chill up my spine. Both she and Magnus are _excellent_ liars, could probably fake sincerity while _in the process_ of some heinous act; I saw their handiwork in Grav tonight, and I'll admit, he almost had me fooled were it not for my repeated guesses at his name to loosen him up," and then added offhandedly, "It's actually 'Graham', by the way."

"How d'you figure?" she asked, taken aback at such an observation.

"It's the only one he didn't bother correcting," smirked Nick, "I don't get the impression that 'Grav' is a nickname, either, but I'm getting off point. Let's assume that Gideon's stint in pred-therapy was _not_ Grav's first exposure to it, nor was it his last, since it could be another four years at least until the whole practice was cracked down on and stopped."

"What little I remember about it…" muttered Gideon, slowing the van as he pulled off the main highway and onto the unpaved road leading to Preds' Corner, thusly earning the attention of his passengers, "Is that they took all my clothes away, and I was only allowed to wear the muzzle and a collar on a chain," he said quietly, "I had to learn what it meant to be 'civilized' and 'evolved'."

"Oh my gosh, Gid, that's _terrible_ ," Judy said, pivoting towards him and putting both paws on his arm, "Are we… is this bringing back _memories_?"

He put his paw on one of hers, "Don't worry about it, Jude, it is what it is. Although it got me thinking that Grav's even _more_ messed up than any of us thought. D'you think he repressed all those memories the same way _I_ did, but instead made himself believe that he liked it?"

Judy rubbed his knuckles a moment before sitting back on the seat, "It's possible that Grav thinks acting like a pred – by eating meat or even _wearing_ the muzzle - will get Aunt Clea's attention, since he probably wants _nothing_ to do with Uncle Magnus."

"Points for the mommy-issues, no doubt he wasn't hugged enough as a kid so neglect and hatred is all he knows, but I wouldn't necessarily say that he discards his dad," Nick pondered, "He wants what Magnus has: power, influence… I daresay even Clea herself. We could be looking at something of a spoiled prince eager to usurp the king, but knows he can't just _do_ that, so he plays along with the dirty work, waiting for the right time to stab him in the back. As I told Bangs, Magnus Hopps is penthouse-level information which I, as a lowly street-trawler, am _not_ privy to, but I'd bet my tail that all Grav needs is the right reason to spill _everything_ he's got, so long as it puts him on top in the power vacuum."

"You know…" wondered the rabbit, that clever gleam flickering across her violet eyes, "Mr. Big could know something about a prolific businessmammal like Uncle Magnus. I don't doubt that with his and Finnick's expertise we could uncover a smoking gun."

"Sly bunny, using your underworld connections for the greater good," grinned Nick with a rub of his chin, "We might not be on the case in any official capacity, but that doesn't mean we can't do some prep work beforehand for a streamlined investigation."

"Stop the presses; I think Nick Wilde is putting forth effort without immediate reward!" Judy exclaimed.

" _Au contraire_ , the reward that _I_ get from all this is the superb satisfaction of nothing less than living one of Mr. Foxglove's spy adventures," he boasted in good humor, "And helping those in need, of course."

"How altruistic of you," she said with a downy punch to his arm.

A thoughtful groan followed the drumming of claws on the steering wheel, "So would that make you _Mrs._ Foxglove, Jude? If you were a vixen, I mean." He then chuckled and gave her a big, if bashful smile, "I wonder how you'd look as one, all pointy-eared and bushy-tailed…"

Judy's long ears went warm as she tried in vain to hide them from her partner's sharp vision. She snapped a glare over her shoulder and gestured at her neck using a swift cutting motion at the word "vixen", even grunting disapproval in the hopes to emphasize how much she wanted Gideon to cease talk on such a subject. It was, of course, too late as she cringed and scrunched her face in a clench at Nick's high, accusatory gasp. She peeked out one violet eye to find his smug, victorious grin mere inches from her cheek.

"Oh," cooed Nick, "that _is_ too cute."

* * *

Thanks for reading! And thank you, my readers, for your patience this past week-and-a-half. Don't forget to review with questions, concerns, and other such things.


	14. Chapter 14

Driving along the moonlit country roads that lead to a backwater chunk of civilization officially named "The Brambles" but locally known as "Preds' Corner", Nick, Judy, and Gideon passed a dire bend which, earlier that day, claimed a moment of terror. While riding unsecured in the bed of a pick-up truck with Bo and Esther, the city fox Nick was launched through the air and into a deep grotto of the bordering woods, thanks to the combination of high speed driving and a nasty bump. Judy, riding in the passenger seat of said pick-up, did not know of the danger until Bo announced the situation to turn the driver around; aside from some mind-splitting headaches he was otherwise, and fortunately, uninjured. Despite all that the fateful bend represented, it garnered _no_ attention from the van's occupants.

"It was a _mandatory_ predator sensitivity workshop, Nick," Judy explained, less coolly than she'd want, but her partner was pushing every button he could on the subject of her self-perception as a vixen, toughened to his jabbing though she might be, "all prey in the precinct participated, _including_ Bogo."

" _And yet_ ," he mused, lounging with whatever space was available in an already cramped van, "And yet of the _multitudinous_ species of predators you chose the humble fox. Isn't that something, Bangs?"

"Well," paused the baker, keeping his eyes to the irregular road but also endeavoring to refrain from a discussion while enclosed with it, "I remember what's said about 'imitation' and 'flattery'," he began, to which he heard a smug grunt from Nick, "but there was something in there about 'sincerity', too," he concluded, to which he heard a smug grunt from Judy. Personally, he was glad to talk on a lighter subject either way. "So this 'Bogo' guy, ain't he that buffalo I saw on the news? That boss of yours sure is gruff."

Likewise, Judy was glad for the diversion of conversation, "He's a little coarse, but not _so_ bad and actually quite nice once you get to know him; he's the chief of police, so he _needs_ to be tough as nails and twice as sharp."

"And a _total_ Gazelle fan," Nick added, ignoring the combined snicker and shush from his partner, "I catch his hips shaking to 'Try Everything' when he thinks no one's looking," and then did the customary wiggling-in-the-seat dance with a wheeling of his fists, "Big guy's got moves, deny though he might."

The driver gawked, "Not in a _hundred_ years could I guess that," he proclaimed, "It just goes to show, don't it?"

"Except the cover of Bogo's book _plainly_ reads, 'The Guff Stops Here'," smirked Nick.

"Which reflects about ninety percent of his personality," Judy said with an apologetic smile, "he _will_ bring the hammer down on you if you step out of line."

"The remaining ten percent is the fun side _I_ like to exploit. We have a game we play, Bogo and I, where he has to find my newest napping spot in the precinct," explained Nick with the easy air that came so readily to him, further ignoring Judy's hissing _tsk_ of mild disapproval, "When he wins, he gets my daily report. When _I_ win, he still gets my daily report, but I now have the satisfaction of knowing that he needed help from the precinct's best ears. Isn't that right, _Carrots_?"

"You _will_ get stuck in or behind something one of these days, Slick, and I won't come to save you," Judy half-heartedly warned, "I will instead laugh to myself waiting for the custodial crew to find your sorry tail. It's the only way you'll learn."

"I don't learn. One of my issues," quipped Nick. To this, Gideon chuckled and shook his head. To that, Nick and Judy exchanged quiet smiles. Coming up on the side of the road was the somber, dark collection of rocks and a single tree which Nick, Judy, Esther, and Bo sat after their lunch date in Preds' Corner, and not long after that was the somber, dark collection of buildings which might have boasted a nocturnal vibrancy at any other time of the decade. As it stood, its grave silence washed over the van an ephemeral melancholy, perhaps Gideon most of all, for whom the town was familiar and its nightlife momentous. At his muted sigh, Nick spoke up, "Hey Bangs, after this whole TBR is over and the bunny population returned to manageable levels, how about we go to that… that _thing_ with the rhyming title; what'd you call it?"

"The Prowl & Howl!" exclaimed the excited farm fox, and with an affirming, grateful snap of his cousin's fingers Gideon continued, "Oh, you betcha, Stretch. It's kinda like a mini, weekly TBR for preds with food and games and stuff. Most weeks it's a bunch of us hangin' around, sometimes watchin' a movie on an outdoor projector or pheasant hunts in the woods, but every other month or so it's something _big_. Like one time, after the pred-scare, Hyena Gomez did a charity concert, and there was a potluck, and a bunch of preds even shipped in from the city to join."

"I was _so_ bummed I missed that!" lamented Judy, but then spoke with acceptance, "I understand _why_ I couldn't get time off, since I didn't have much in the way of seniority at the time - I caught it on  ZooTube anyway, but _still_."

"So _that_ 's what the entire hubbub was a few months ago," said Nick, adding under his breath, "My community service had me combing Coyote Canyon for trash…"

Gideon continued in exposition about Preds' Corner as they turned down the residential service road, pointing out each family farm along the way: the Turners, the Catmulls, the Umbertons, the Tweeds, the Nods, the Kumamoris, the Blackfoots, the Mallupes-

" _Mallupe_?" interjected Nick.

"Yeah, they're our nearest neighbors. Edward Mallupe and Pa were at odds for the longest time, but they eventu'ly made nice," Gideon explained, spreading a grin across his snout, "They keep those ravens you wondered about."

"Goody," cringed Nick, if only for an instant, "I don't suppose you remember a _Mack_ Mallupe, by any chance?"

"That'd be Ed's oldest," recalled Gideon, "He left for the city _years_ ago; up and disappeared into thin air… kinda like Aunt Jackie, I guess. And after him's Mallory, but we all call her 'Lory'-" and then paused, "How d' _you_ know Mack, anyway?"

"Yes, how _do_ you know Mack, Slick?" asked Judy, wholly unsurprised of the fox-cop's spontaneous knowledge of an obscure wolf from out in the sticks, considering he apparently entered the city and thus into Nick's sphere of influence, as though earning enough proximity to ping off Nick's interpersonal WiFi. Frequent were the boasts of "knowing everybody" in Zootopia, such to the point that Benjamin Clawhauser, as an in-joke, gifted him for his birthday a small stack of business cards reading simply:

 **Officer Nick Wilde**

"I know everybody"

They turned past the "GREY" mailbox, the bend at another fateful junction. It was at the end of that driveway which young Gideon stood in trepidation after the Carrot Days Festival, when his and Judy's destinies forked as a river down two sides of a mountain only to join once more at the base. Its gravity went largely unnoticed as they awaited Nick's brewing answer.

His fingers steepled with a thoughtful hum, fanning and then folding to touch at pursed lips, indexes tapping as his green eyes shined with recollecting ponderance. He remained silent save for quiet grunts as they rolled up the dirt stripe cleaving silver lit lawn. "That _is_ a pickle," he finally answered, well after Gideon's van idled and the engine was at last turned off.

Judy blinked at such anti-climax, expecting - _hoping_ \- for another insight into the fox's tangled web of urban lore, "That's it?"

"That's it," he affirmed disinterestedly, and popped open the passenger-side door to step onto bare earth, twisting some life back into his spine with exaggerated jerks of his torso.

"That's _not_ 'it'," defied Judy, scooting along the seat hurriedly to follow her partner, habitually locking the door on her way out, "You _know_ who Mack Mallupe is, Nick, I'd bet you even know him _personally_."

"I honestly _don't_ , Carrots," he admitted with a smirking shrug, "I only know that Mack Mallupe - of whom _some_ might associate the name of 'Sparrow' - is a modern-day pirate whose 'high-seas' is the darknet. Now, you didn't hear this from _me_ ," he continued, leaning in with a false whisper and even erecting his paw to emphasize how _hush-hush_ such information was. Gideon, of course, scampered over to hear what he 'didn't hear' from Nick, "but Finnick may or may _not_ have learned everything he knows about computer use from Mack. Maybe."

"Wait… ' _Sparrow_ '?" gawked Judy, "As in ' _The_ Sparrow'?"

Once again, Nick shrugged his disinterest with an unsure grunt, "If you invest much into the gossip of Internet forums; I know _I_ don't."

"Oh my gosh, all the behavioral profiles on Sparrow are _wrong_ ," she realized and touched her mouth, "They're _miles_ off point, literally, over two-hundred _miles_ off point. The best they could figure is he's an antelope from Ficus Grove. This is huge!" she declared, and grabbed Nick's shirt as though to shake him down, "If you know how to find the Sparrow-"

Nick stood upright with his paws folded professionally behind his back, "Carrots," he said in continued professionalism, looking down at her as she nearly dangling from holding onto his shirt near the collar, "I would _never_ betray the confidence of someone who may or may not be a close associate of mine, _especially_ not someone who is _definitely_ a close associate of mine. Besides," he berated and carefully released her paws from his borrowed wardrobe so that she might stand before him crestfallen, "we are off-duty, out of our jurisdiction, and have enough on our plates without facing down impossible challenges, so quell your obsession for a night, Carrots, and let's take advantage of this chance to _relax_."

Gradually, her ears went up again, arms crossed and head tilted, "You look weird taking the ethical high ground," teased Judy.

"It _feels_ weird," he agreed and smacked his lips, "It's mixing with that emotional outburst from earlier that I can _still_ taste. Maybe I _am_ turning into a bunny…"

Gideon's shoulders and belly shook with hearty chuckles as he twirled keys around a finger on his way to the front door. Behind his back, Judy and Nick once more exchanged satisfied smiles, hers more in relief and his in gratitude. With a click of the lock and an effortless push of the wooden slab, the Grey house was opened to reveal a golden-lit living room, cozy, quiet, and empty. "Essy, we're home!" Gideon called in joy, blue eyes sweeping to find a half-open laptop sitting on the kitchen table beside an either cold or empty teacup (as there was no steam wafting up from it). "Essy…?"

Green eyes and tall ears scanned as Nick slipped in, taking in necessary info through narrowing pupils and flaring nostrils; grunting with inward analysis, he hunched only momentarily before standing upright without a hint of concern. Judy remained near the door, for her auditory assessment needed both inside and out for adequacy, but she, like her partner, detected nothing amiss.

"Essy!" cried Gideon, clapping his cheeks and catching his breath with a frantic swipe of his puffed tail that the bunny opted to dodge, "The darknet took Essy-!"

"No, no, Gid," cooed Judy, cradling his elbow, "Listen to me, okay? Esther's _fine_ , she's probably taking a bath right now, maybe she wearing her headphones. In fact, I'm _sure_ I can hear her down the hall. Let's go check, okay?"

"Y-yeah…" Gideon finally whimpered.

"And," Nick swiftly added, "It's worth noting that there are _no_ signs of struggle. See?" he said with a broad sweep of his arms that evolved into enumerating gesticulation, "Esther's a kickboxer, right? If anyone came for her, there'd be overturned furniture, holes in the wall, broken glass, all such things you'd see from a fight."

"Yeah…" he repeated, shuddering, "b-but there's none of that, so she's okay?"

"That's _right_ ," the taller fox said in his most soothing tone, closing the distance between them in the short time he spoke until he could look the stouter fox in the eyes, waiting until they focused on him before he continued. "Now we're _breathing_ ," he instructed with an appropriate, gathering gesture to further demonstrate his own slow intake of air.

Gideon inhaled.

"And _out_."

Gideon exhaled.

" _There_ , nothing to worry about," cooed Judy, guiding Gideon away from the door so Nick could shut and lock it, "Let's go find Esther, down the hall, in the bathroom."

His steps were stiff at first, almost dragging along the floor until his paw pads lifted to renew use of his legs. "Okay," Gideon mumbled, repeated a few times with calming breaths, heading towards the kitchen table to slump into a sturdy chair and sink his face into a pair of readied palms, though not from shock or grief, it seemed, but shame.

Nick and Judy stood nearby, unsure for the moment what to make of this new emotional reaction; she took a step forward but halted to the paw on her shoulder, and glanced up to a quietly shaking head that soon nodded down the hallway. The rabbit smiled sadly, quite sadly at Gideon before nodding in response, and nodded a second time in confirmation after Nick leaned in to whisper so low that only her acute hearing could pick it up, "Take your time."

"I'll go get Esther," announced Judy.

"Okay," he mumbled again, face moving from his paws to his folded arms.

The bunny muted a sigh and scurried out of the room, but slowed her pace once she hit the hall. Nick jutted his jaw to watch the lazy breath of a forlorn fox, such positioning he'd recognize anywhere as profound disappointment in oneself. Unspoken, the taller fox walked further into the kitchen while his cousin stewed, spotting the softly steaming teapot set to simmer on the stove; from there, it wasn't hard to locate some spare mugs with which to pour hot water into. Esther even had the courtesy to leave out an opened box of _Trill Grey_ tea (an aptly named tea for such a situation).

"Hey," said Nick, setting down one steaming cup of tea at Gideon's elbow while _he_ sat in the adjacent chair, "Lookin' kinda glum there, Bangs, considering we' got that nasty whipped cream business behind us. What's up?"

Weary, blue eyes peeked to see the beverage his nose and ears already knew of, but only hid his face again. "Like you don't already know," he muttered into his arms.

Nick blew on the tea before lifting it to his mouth to test its temperature, but when it was too hot to even put near his dark lips he set it on the table instead. "Despite what I lead everyone to believe, I am _not_ psychic and I actually _do_ respect the feelings of others, but if you really want, I'll explain this _ennui_ rather than hearing about in your own words," he conversed, reaching over the table to acquire a jar of honey, which Esther was courteous enough to also leave out for them. "Before I do, I'm sure you recall when I bullet-pointed my first impression of you - a resounding success, I might add - so I'll ask again," he said, tapping a spoon against the mug's rim after stirring honey into his tea, "What's up, Bangs?"

Once more, eyes of blue not only in color but of deep lament lifted to the probing green, Gideon's brow knitted and ears pinned with severity. The head lay down again, but this time setting his chin on the crossed arms, "I know the darknet didn't take Essy," he admitted weakly, "I must've sounded so _stupid_ but I couldn't stop myself sayin' it, I guess because I was scared I lost her and jus' couldn't handle it…" He pointed at the spoon, which Nick handed over, and dragged the honey closer. "I mean… _I'm_ safe, at least for tonight, because they still need me at the pie eating contest tomorrow, right? But they could've taken Essy to stop any funny business, ya'know?"

Softly blowing on the tea, Nick cradled the mug and found that he could at last touch the lip to his own, nostrils flaring patiently as he breathed in the scent before softly sipping. He quietly trilled at the taste and arched his brow as he looked to the dark brew, even letting his tail wheel behind him once (and only once). Eyelids hooded, he observed Gideon scoop honey into his own tea, and a muted clink of metal to ceramic provided the only stepping stones to span that awkward silence.

"How d'you do it?" he asked, voice dragging along as his feet did not minutes ago.

"'Do' what? I'm multi-talented and can do _many_ things, so you'll need to specify."

"Be so _cool_ about ev'rything. You prob'ly see me and think, 'Lookit this big, dumb farm fox, needin' his paw held like some baby-kit… How's I ever get such a cousin?'. And then there's you, slick, big-time city fox, so sly he prob'ly knows what I'm 'bout to say before I know m'self," rued Gideon, no longer stirring the spoon but only twirling it in the tea, "It'd be better if I weren't a part of this whole thing… aside from being the cause of it all, I mean. We shoulda told Essy this mornin', Stretch, at least _she's_ city fox enough to help, not some doughy bumpkin like me."

Nick sipped, listened… granted, out of his comfort zone and unsure what _he_ was thinking when he volunteered to act as Gideon's emotional support; blood relation only goes so far, after all. If this were Bo, he'd shove every inch of tongue he could into his own cheek and tell the bunny to "Sly up, fox right", and give him such a thorough bushwhacking that his tail would likely break the sound barrier in the process. The muscle-headed rabbit could handle such encouraging abuse, all things considered. But _this_ … this borderline catatonic bundle of nerves bound up in scarred flesh required _professional_ help (or the next best thing in a pinch, Judy Hopps).

 _What would Dad do?_ pondered Nick, and recalled from his youth when the older fox leaned back in his chair and conjured up some fantastical story paralleling the current situation to wrap everything up in a nice moral. _Maybe if I lean back far enough and fall, I could get another laugh out of Gloomy Gid… or freak him out and get a repeat of Friday night, complete with mouth-to-mouth. What would_ Mom _do, then?_ The answer was, Nick realized, right under his nose; literally, under his nose. He looked at his delicious, honey-sweetened tea and then at Gideon's untouched beverage. "Drink your tea," Nick said not unkindly, _You giant, pouting baby-kit_.

Gideon peered over the edge of his folded arm with a frown and furrowed brow, "Why?" he eventually defied, and uncharacteristically nudged the cup away from him.

"Because I went through the trouble of making it for you, and you put honey in it," he chastised, commanding what little authority he knew how and hoped it was enough, "So drink it, or it'll go cold," and sipped in punctuation.

Blue eyes glared back at green - those exact same "Savage Greens" his Ma had; if there were any proof that he and Nick were related on his mother's side, it was those eyes - and felt his defiance waning. Yes, he alluded to being a "baby-kit", but up until that instant Nick treated him like an adult. "Maybe I'll have m'self something _stronger_ ," Gideon finally responded with what little defiance he could still muster, "I know where Pa keeps some What's Bruin?; it's microbrew, but sometimes he splurges, and I think after today-"

"Tea first, Gideon," Nick reminded pointedly, "and stop slouching."

Another glare, if lesser this time, and the stouter fox straightened his back to retrieve his rejected offering of a hot drink, gripping firmly around the mug's handle in a languid sip. He wasn't going to admit it to Nick - and likely didn't need to - but the honeyed tea helped, so much so an airy sigh relinquished when he reached up to run fingers through his disheveled bangs and smooth them out. Gideon's ear flicked as the adjacent chair creaked, and glanced over as the taller fox casually leaned on the hind legs, keeping a knee propped against the edge of the table.

"To answer your earlier question," Nick finally said after his cousin's third sip, judging primarily the time taken to savor its taste and the resulting sigh, "I'm so cool thanks to years and years of practice. Admittedly, my time as a kit wasn't half-so-harrowing as a psychotic bunny rabbit gunning to villainize me, but I had my share of antagonism."

"I thought about hurling Grav across the playground _so_ many times," Gideon said, "It would've been easy, too, but I knew Pa wouldn't like it if he found out."

"Not to mention the hundreds of bunnies who'd tattle on you if you did."

"It crossed my mind."

"When I was a kit, my dad would leave for extended lengths of time," Nick continued, arm extended to set his half-finished mug of tea upon the table before narrating to the room as a whole and the audience of one, "John Wilde apprenticed under some prestigious tailor in Downtown, which meant he was assigned a lot of work for little credit; since we lived in Conifer District, it also meant a two-hour commute, assuming all the buses and trains lined up properly. He was the tailor's best, so when a big-money client needed a bespoke suit, John Wilde was called to assist," he paused and addressed Gideon directly, "'Bespoke' is tailor-speak for a custom suit."

"'Bespoke' is a fancy word that means it's very expensive," smirked the farm fox, "According to Pa."

"Very expensive and takes a long time to make," the city fox smirked right back, "For a fast worker like Dad, up to a week or ten days. Some nights, it was only me a Mom. Other nights, due to her own skill as a seamstress, _she_ was called in to speed up the process, because the Wildes worked _very_ well together."

"I guess, that's when ya' stayed with yer dad's side of the family, huh?"

Nick scratched under his chin as he slung an arm behind the chair's back, letting his seat creak as he marginally rocked to-and-fro, "Not as such. You see, other kids all had their relatives - even Finnick had an aunt or uncle - but it was only a party of three for us Wildes. Fun factoid: 'Wilde' is old Zootopian for 'without extended family'."

"Wow… really?"

With a sharp clunk of his chair's front legs to the floor, Nick laughed and backhanded Gideon's arm, "No, of course not," and pressed on at a snorting roll of blue eyes, "While Gnu York boasts the freshest and most immigrants in Zootopia, those that travel up the Lion's Tail river eventually find the Conifer District, so our neighborhood was a melting pot of predators from different cultures; when I needed babysitting, I stayed with any one of such families. Sure, I learned lots of neato languages and customs, but it wasn't all lollipops and cultural diversity."

"Now you're gonna tell me a li'l _fox_ wasn't welcomed with open arms."

"Even though back in _ye olden_ times, a fox was considered a good omen because we found the safest places to hunker down. Go figure, right?"

"Color me _surprised_."

"They tried to find other fox families, of course, but we were one of the few in that specific location. At face, the parents were accepting, after all, Mom and Dad wouldn't entrust my safety to someone they didn't know personally. Their _offspring_ , however…"

"Ran ya' through your paces, huh?"

"That's a nice way of putting it," mused Nick, "Really made me appreciate having my parents around. Like I said, I lucked out and didn't bunk with anyone like Grav, but on that same token, I was an easy target for larger pred kids. So, as they say, I learned to 'sly up, and fox right' real quick," and took a sip from his tea. _There_ , he thought, _that should do it._

Gideon hummed introspectively, and indeed seemed less troubled as a single clawed finger tapped to the table. "I s'pose I really only have myself to blame," he said matter-of-factly.

"Why?" Nick inquired with a drawling emphasis on the 'h'.

"I could've gone to Ma or Pa at any time, but even as young as I was I wanted to handle Grav on my own… I guess I've always been stubborn like that," he chuckled softly, "At least they were there at the end of the day, and of course there was Essy, even though she was a pain-in-the-neck and bossy." He huffed, "but then it kinda spiraled, and I didn't want them finding out what all I did."

Nick shifted in his seat, reclaiming the single degree of composure he let slip through his fingers, "Does this have something to do with what Grav said Judy said, that thing he put up on a plaque?"

A response was not quick to come, only a slight swirling of tea in its mug. "Yeah," he finally admitted, "It never felt _so_ bad, what he was doin', because Jude believed in me… and she was the _only_ one that did after a while… but then she said _that_ and something snapped. We were kids, we didn't know better; it still hurt when she said it, though, and since I was older than her I understood what it meant, so it jus' hurt more," and shrugged, "I couldn't help bein' a fox, so I was gonna be the fox ev'ryone thought I was… I guess Travis egged me on, but it's not his fault. What I did is what _I_ did."

"Yet your parents _never_ found out until Carrot Days?"

"May not look it _now_ , but I could be pretty sly as a kit. And I guess all the prey parents were too scared to confront 'em about it," he then chuckled, "Pa can be pretty intimidatin' without tryin' to be. Even bigger preds gave him a wide berth sometimes."

"And his eyes _really_ change from blue to gray, like Esther's do," Nick wondered aloud.

"I only seen it happen _once_ , and I bet you can guess _when_ ," Gideon said, exchanging a knowing glance with his cousin, "Though the way Ma tells it, Pa was hotheaded in his youth, got into lots of fights before he came up north, but he left that all behind him. Now, if he ever gets really mad, he'd turn away to stare and sniff at his paws like there were had somethin' growin' on 'em. I ain't ever seen him bare fang or raise a claw to anyone… unless it was a hammer on a nail."

"Or watching soccer," Nick added with a grin to a chuckling response, and tossed a thumb into the living room and the TV-facing chair; the grooves caused from white-knuckled claws were – undoubtedly – known to them both.

"So what about Uncle John, Stretch? You know so much about my Pa, but I know _zilch_ about yours," he asked in palpable eagerness.

"John Wilde, as I'm sure you can expect from _my_ father, is a fox of many talents," Nick began, grinning no less than before, "Tailor, storyteller, acrobat-"

" _Acrobat_?"

"Oh yes, he was quite nimble in his prime. You wouldn't know it looking at him _now_ , thickened out as he has," Nick explained using broadening gestures around his chest and midsection, "It drove Mom up the wall every time he leaned back in his chair, and he could not only keep balance, but _stand up_ and _walk_ the chair around the kitchen on only its back legs; and then he'd do it on the _front_ legs. But here's the kicker: I'd be sitting on his shoulders the _whole time_."

Gideon stifled laughter, "Yer kiddin'! Oh, if Aunt Jackie is _anything_ like Ma she'd be all puff-tailed and glarin'. Y'see," he chuckled, "Pa had a habit of throwing me 'n' Essy _high_ in the air and then catching us; sometimes he had to dive for us. We loved it, but Ma weren't too thrilled, I can tell ya' that much."

Nick joined in the catharsis of shared merriment, watching as all the telltale signs of nerve and anxiety melted away to jiggling bulk. _Silly me, I should've known I was the right fox for the job_ , he mused, _Good thinking on my part._

"Uncle John's got his own shop, I think you said, so I figured you'd be right in there helpin' him instead of hustlin' those 'Pawpsicles'," Gideon remarked, and then held up his paws to read a sign, "'Wilde & Son Tailoring'. Now I know what you're thinkin', 'Gid, how can you say that when _you_ aren't a carpenter like your Pa?'," but his smile and paws drooped when he spotted Nick staring at the ceiling with his head hung over the back of the chair, frowning. "Stretch?"

A response was not quick to come.

"I mean," fumbled Gideon with a recovering twiddle of his fingers, "I think you also said something about that night specifically, when the shop opened up, and bein' muzzled, which would… umm, what's the word… 'associate'? Yeah, you'd associate one with the other, but your parents helped you through it, didn't they?"

A response still did not come, beyond a leaden sigh.

"Oh…" he said, and slumped back in his seat, paws around his tea once more, "I-I'm sorry, Stretch, I didn't mean to pry, but I figured them hearing about something like _that_ , they'd be a bit more… I dunno…"

"I didn't tell them what happened that night." An awkward silence returned to the table, but there was no clinking spoon to disturb it this time. Nick peered upside-down at the empty hallway expectantly, _Feel free to barge in at any time, Judy_ , and then looked once more to a pursed-mouth Gideon.

A glance flickered up before the stouter fox's dark lips moved in speech, "Well, you can't have kept it for longer than I kept _this_ from _my_ parents," tried Gideon with a pointing at his back, "They still won't find out until Thursday… maybe Friday, give 'em a chance to get in the door, and all. Essy will know tonight, though."

"No, Gideon," Nick said, idly scraping his claw tips across the finished wooden tabletop, "They still don't know. I never told them. Not in all the time living under their roof, not since I reunited with them after fifteen-plus years. Never.

"I thought I could handle it," he continued when the quiet chaffed too coarsely, "I thought I was to blame, so I tried to fix it," and drew an invisible circle on table for no apparent reason than to affix his attention elsewhere. "If I made my own scout troop that could trust me, then that should do the trick. Made sense at the time. But it was only me and Finnick, and he couldn't afford a uniform, so we made and sold Pawpsicles to fundraise for it. This went on for a while, but eventually, a cop found us and it just so happened that _his_ son was not only a Junior Ranger Scout, but in the same troop I was _supposed_ to be, so he knew I wasn't going to meetings," he coughed and looked at a rapt Gideon, sitting back with a stretch of his arms, "Let's just say he _misinterpreted_ our intentions."

"What'd he do?"

"'Do'? He went to our parents, of course. I managed to convince him that Finnick had nothing to do with it, and was only helping me sell the Pawpsicles, so at least _he_ was let go. As for _me_ …" and he sighed, and cupped his snout to rub it, "I knew I couldn't convince the officer that I wasn't some shifty little fox, so I didn't correct anything he said about me skipping out on the meetings, using the uniform for personal gain, _blah blah blah_ , but I still couldn't bring myself to say that I was muzzled. As if I needed anything else to show I was untrustworthy, right?

"Things were looking pretty bleak for young Nicky Wilde, but I knew I could bounce back; I was good at that. Except when the officer left, my Mom and Dad looked at me with such _disappointment_. We didn't even leave the entryway after the door closed. I told them that the troop didn't accept me, I was crying and apologizing with a _slew_ of naive rationale… and in my hysteria I mentioned the uniform that Mom worked so hard to pay for as the big reason for doing what I did. That's when Dad knelt down, took off my cap, looked me right in the eye and said without even raising his voice, 'Nicky, that uniform can be purchased from a catalog; trust cannot'."

" _Ouch_ , right in the soul," Gideon winced and clutched his chest.

"Suffice to say, my world shattered. I was to go to bed without supper, dessert, bedtime story, and I was grounded until further notice," Nick continued matter-of-factly, "I laid awake thinking about what I did, why I got in so much trouble, and it occurred to me that it wasn't what the prey kids did to me, it was that I lied about it. I lied to _them_ about it."

"Yeah, that's kind of he one thing foxes don't do to each other," came an apologetic reply.

"It was… late, I forget the exact time when it happened, but I felt like I could come forward, that if I told them I was muzzled, and that's why I tried to hide it, maybe they'd understand. I couldn't possibly get in any worse trouble, anyway. So, I tiptoed down the hall and crouched at the top of the stairs when I heard them talking in the kitchen. And then Dad called himself a 'hypocrite'," Nick paused and sipped at lukewarm tea, wondering if he should go through the bother of reheating it.

Gideon's brow furrowed severely as he blinked, "He called himself a 'hypocrite'?" he repeated back.

Nick nodded, "He used such a word to describe the tailor he worked for _plenty_ of times, so I understood what it meant, and yes, I was as confused then as you are now, and as curious, so I crept down the stairs, careful not to hit any of the squeaky floorboards so that I could get to the kitchen without my parents knowing. The rest of their conversation up to that point was a blur, but I remember them looking at me as I would at them if they caught me reaching into the cookie jar. They asked why I was downstairs, but they wouldn't listen when I said I had something to tell them. While I could hardly string more than two words together since I was fighting back tears, I managed to say that I wanted to tell them the truth… and then they asked _how_ they were supposed to trust me."

Gideon looked prepared to extend a sympathetic paw; but didn't. He seemed ready to express some condolence or encouragement; but didn't. Maybe he couldn't.

"Don't worry, Bangs, it's all in the past," smirked Nick, "The next morning, Mom made pancakes, so I think she was trying to make amends, which I as a kit wanted more than anything. It was tense in the Wilde household for a while, but I earned their trust again, and by ultimatum of the officer that 'if he ever saw me in that uniform again', it was stored in a box; I managed to swipe the handkerchief, though, which I kept in my pocket to spite him.

"All was mostly well until I turned… _twelve_ , I think, and puberty hit me like heaping sack of awkward. It didn't help that it was one of those times when Mom and Dad had to suit-up some high-falutin' client. I _begged_ them to take me along, just that one time, because hey, I was practically an adult, right? But nope, I had to stay behind again, and this time for almost a month, _the_ longest of them all. Finnick and I kept up our honest business of Pawpsicle sales for some spending money; there was no crime in that (especially when we gave that particular officer and his son 'free samples'). But in that month my parents were away, we expanded, making more, selling more, using his business acumen and my charisma – unrefined as they were - to buy low and sell high, even branching into products beyond frozen treats.

"It was then that I really started resenting my parents," Nick stated, "You know how they say, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder', and 'Familiarity breeds contempt'? Well, I took that differently and either enjoyed when they were gone, or pretended they were. Figures that they didn't have any more clients that called them away, after that," and seemed, for a moment, to wonder on the irony before continuing. "I learned to detect lies by watching my Dad and Mom; I was convinced they could _smell_ dishonesty, and the more I thought about everything they said to me, the more it felt like _they_ were lying to _me_. There were times when they were _covered_ in tells, but made no correction or confession afterwards. While I didn't have any solid evidence to go on aside from a gut feeling and raging biochemistry, it was like they'd been lying to me my entire life, and yet had the _nerve_ to say they couldn't trust me."

"Tha's kinda shortsighted, if you don't mind my sayin'."

"It was _dumb_ , Bangs, plain and simple. Anyway, I didn't mention their assumed deception, only sulked and was generally angsty; 'that'll show them', or so I thought. And then I turned seventeen, and felt like I could own the world… if only I weren't controlled by my parents. So, I grabbed all the stuff I wanted to take with me, shoved it in a bag, and left to go meet up with Finnick, who was eighteen at the time and had a van. Before I left, though, I wrote 'BYE' across the whiteboard Mom kept on the fridge, all caps, triple underlined, and in permanent marker to _really_ get my point across. That was the last time I saw them face-to-face…" and brought the remainder of his tea up for a final sip, but then grimaced, "Eww, it's cold. Didn't you say there was some  Bruin stashed around here somewhere?"

"Oh, um, sure," said Gideon, and took up both emptied mugs (as well as the teacup left behind by his sister) to the sink for a quick rinse. From the looks of it, aided by his readily transmitted state of mind, he was still processing all he received and, as was his way, busied himself through menial activities, such as general tidying of the kitchen. "So, you been away from them for years," he finally said, "Why go back Friday, of all days?"

Nick scratched through the fur on his head with an introspective grumble, "Why _not_ on a Friday? Fridays are great days to do things, especially when you have the day off. It was what happened on _Thursday_ that I decided to see them again, though. That big, blue, buffalo-butt boss of mine struck a chord with me, and it felt like my entire life just _flipped_ onto its head," he explained with a wild gesticulation of a spinning paw.

"I guess it was some kind of backhanded compliment, or somethin'?"

"He called me a 'decent cop', believe it or not. Judy called me the same once, back when I was but a simple civilian consultant on the Otterton case, and a few fellow officers did as well in my time at the precinct, which was more tongue-in-cheek I think, but to hear it from _Bogo_ \- of all mammals - felt like I finally accomplished my lifelong dream of being trusted and accepted." The guard Nick carefully maintained lowered as he drifted through a retrospection that, at least for the time being, clouded the fact that someone else was within earshot. "It reminded me of a promise I made to my parents as a kit, and I realized that whatever they told me or didn't tell me, while it _hurt_ , hating them for it hurt even more." He then cleared his throat to reassume his default levels of snark, "And I refuse to turn into one of those, 'If only I told them when I had the chance' types. That is _far_ too much emotional baggage to hold onto."

Gideon leaned on the counter, simply looking at the city fox with his cheek on a fist.

"Yes?"

"You opened up a whole lot to me t'night, Stretch."

 _So I did,_ he smiled, _I will need to learn this black-belt degree of innocent disarming, it could prove quite useful_ , and shrugged, "Well, I know all about the scars on _your_ back, it's only fair that you know about the ones on _mine_. Tit-for-tat, as it were."

The farm fox chuckled, "I guess so," and turned to retrieve something from the fridge.

Nick peered down the hall, ears flicking as he heard girlish giggling and muffled glee. _I see, having yourself a jolly time while I'm out here opening old wounds and bearing my very soul,_ scoffed Nick _,_ and then jumped when a heavy something landed on the table in front of him. He stared and frowned at an aluminum tube - amusingly, one that he could probably shove Judy into - emblazoned with the caricature of a smiling bear logo and the unmistakable words of the 'What's Bruin?' microbreweries. He poked it to confirm its existence, and then glanced over it at the second can Gideon popped open with a bubbling hiss. "Bangs," he said flatly as his cousin gingerly sipped cider with one paw, "This is bear-sized."

"Yep," came nonchalant agreement.

"As in, 'sized for bears'."

"Tha's what it means," he grinned, "If you can't finish it, I'm sure Essy or Jude can help ya'," before noisily sipping.

With hooded eyes and an unmistakably, unamused half-frown, Nick kept his gaze on the other fox in the room as he reached for the pull-tab to crack open the brew. "A point of curiosity, _why_ does Goliath have bear-sized beverages; is he in the habit of entertaining bears?"

"Sometimes the Kumamoris visit, or ya' jus' have bigger preds like the Catmulls, but I think the real reason is that Ma allows him only _one_ can when he drinks," Gideon explained with a tap of his index finger, "So, he only _has_ one."

The taller fox grunted approvingly, and tilted the can to nurse it. His brow quirked at an audible gulping, watching the farm fox continue to hold _his_ cider in one paw and swig it, before setting it calmly upon the table with a self-contented grin… to which a single, momentary glance was paid to Nick. This, Nick could not abide, so he cradled a can which he could not fully get his paws around to lift it, and then tilted his head back far enough to ingest without spilling, idly wondering how he managed to get into such a situation. "Whew!" huffed Nick, setting the brew down perhaps a bit heavier than intended, "Heady stuff."

A warm, contented hum wafted from Gideon as he propped himself up on his elbows, "Thanks, Stretch."

"For…?"

"Helpin' me."

"Of course; we are family, after all, it's what family does," he paused, _Even if - in the context of this_ particular _conversation - it could take a while._

"I really weren't sure if I could tell Essy," he admitted, if quietly, "but I feel better about it, now."

"Well, hot tea plus cold cider equals liquid courage," grinned Nick, "Ancient fox recipe."

"Hey Blue," came a familiar, casual voice from immediately over Nick's shoulder, eliciting a sharp yelp and raised fur, "Why is it whenever Judy and I go do something by ourselves, _you_ hit up the watering hole?"

His paw gripped securely around the can, even slouching a bit to rest an elbow on the tabletop, "Again with the sneaking," he critiqued, not bothering to even glance over his shoulder with a half-hearted sneer, "Bangs, how long was she behind me?"

A pair of arms wrapped around Nick's neck in a grateful embrace as her nose touched to his cheek with a soft kiss, "I came in at the part about family helping family," Esther explained. Green eyes blinked, darting from the vixen to a pair of amused blue eyes whose brows arched in a facial shrug. Nick's splayed, warm ears relaxed in the resulting situational equilibrium as her arms moved to fold atop his head as though he were furniture. "So what's this you weren't sure to tell me, Giddy?" she wondered aloud. It was the blue eyes' turn to blink and dart from vixen to greens, which in turn did _not_ play at unspoken snark or challenge, but exchanged a knowing look.

"Cherries, have a sit," Nick suggested to her, and guided the Bruin a bit away from him.

"That serious, huh?" answered Esther, and when she took a step back to sit where her laptop remained at the kitchen table Nick reached up to lay a paw on her arm. The taller fox looked up at her, fur freshly blow-dried and unbrushed, garbed in a workout tank-top and jogging pants, and slid his chair out to rise from it in offering.

" _Here_ would be best," he said soberly, holding the back in one paw and gesturing. Esther was visibly stunned by the severity of the atmosphere, so obvious in the demeanor of one fox and the other, but she cautiously accepted the seat as Nick pushed it in for her. With both Greys comfortably positioned, he stepped next to his cousin and gripped the sagging shoulder, which promptly squared, "We'll be right outside," he stated with a thumb jutting towards the backdoor of the kitchen. Nick joined a patiently, quietly observing Judy near the entrance of the hall, and followed her out when she unlocked the door to exit into balmy evening, the skyward glare long since waned to give way to starlight, moonlight, and the beckoning mystique of fireflies out in the bordering woods.

Judy walked with her paws clasped behind her back, not the at-attention of an officer's stance, but a simple farm bunny's gait that came with a whimsical half-skip every other step as she went out to the yard. Nick continued to follow after closing the door, paws in his pockets with the thumbs hooked outside as he kept easy-enough pace. Numerous quips ran through his brain like a movie reel: _"That was fun"_ , _"Could've gone better, could've been worse"_ , _"I think I'm improving on this whole 'empathy' thing"_ , among others, yet there was a certain, solemnity that followed them in the silence of chirping crickets, croaking frogs, and whispering breezes.

She came to a fence at the edge of the Grey homestead and nimbly hopped up to sit, resting an arm on the nearby post to lean on it. He walked up with a swish of his tail and leaned forward, arms crossed, elbows providing all the stability he needed as one leg hooked behind the other. In this manner, they looked out at similar eye-levels across the night-covered landscape dotted with pinpoints of electric light, leading to one brilliant aura that - surely - was the not- _too_ -far-off fairgrounds, and another, greater one over the distant city of Zootopia tucked beneath the horizon. Judy's feet kicked idly and Nick's tail flicked.

"I can see why Mom left for the city," Nick finally said, keen nocturnal eyes focusing on the spectrum, "It can't have been this bright over thirty years ago, but even so, she must've stood right here, saw it every night, that distant beacon calling to her: 'Find me, join me, on an adventure for two'."

The rabbit smiled, and wondered if she should pay his poeticism with snark, but it didn't feel proper at the moment. "Hey Nick," she asked, and was answered by a curious grunt, "Should we have left them alone? Gid's been dangling by a thread this whole time. I understood that driving kept his mind off everything that's happened, but in _my_ family-"

" _They_ need to figure this out, Judy, without anyone else listening in or watching" Nick interrupted, and looked up to her as she looked back, "This way, they don't need to put up any defenses… they can be one-hundred honest with one another, which is what he needs most right now. He's kept his scars secret for _years_ , over half his life, and that means he's done things to keep them from Esther; now's the time to come forward with all that, and even though he trusts and loves us, if we're there he might try to put on a brave face.

"Your fur smells nice, by the way, coincidentally the same as Esther's. And it's also slightly damp, coincidentally," he poised, smirking.

Given opportunity to avoid an awkward question that would lead to an awkward answer – an exchanged summed up in "bunny things are different from fox things" - Judy ran a paw over the top of her head and down an ear, humming in a capricious denial, "Well, we both know each other's stance on coincidences, don't we, Slick?"

"It actually answers how you managed to delay her for so long," he said, and turned about to rest his elbows on the fence, but looking back at the house, "Relaxing enough, I hope?"

"The tub is sized for Goliath, as I'm sure you guessed, so after she drained it a bit I was able to get in in a quick soak. After all, we got pedicures today, so why _not_ share a bath," she mused and wiggled her toes, "By the way, top-notch ploy with Mack Mallupe, I _almost_ believed that he was really the Sparrow; it's just too bad Gid's stress level skyrocketed when he thought Esther was in danger… I honestly thought that little act calmed him down enough."

"Oh, that wasn't a ploy," Nick admitted, "And I won't say another word on the matter, unless it's to Cherries herself as to _why_ she didn't mention the Mallupe family when she brought me out here earlier today."

"What!" reeled Judy, pivoting in her seat, "Mack Mallupe really _is_ the Sparrow, and you _know_ him?"

"Sorry, Carrots, _you_ are not Cherries, so I will _not_ say another word on the matter," he repeated, holding up a palm and turning his face away.

The bunny's violet eyes narrowed with a disgruntled groan, but she looked at him sidelong with a forming smirk as she brought up one leg onto the fence with her, "Well, I'm not Esther, but I know why she didn't mention them," she said, "I actually asked about Mack in casual conversation - to confirm your story, as it were - and she volunteered the information without knowing it. Apparently, she knew him _personally_ before he left."

Nick gave his own sidelong glance, setting his jaw with an introspective growl, "I'll bite. You share yours, I'll share mine."

"You first."

"Fine, if only for your admirable, fox-like behavior," he smirked, "It was around the time I got on Mr. Big's naughty list-"

"With the skunk-butt rug?"

"Yes, that. Anyway, Finnick and I kept on the lowest downlow we could get down on, which meant we beelined for a safehouse in Acorn Heights known only as 'Granny's'. Along the way, we ran into Mack, claiming to know who we are and had a better course of action than straight-up hiding. Now, the age difference between us and him is about the same as between you and I, so of course I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to accept his sagely wisdom."

" _Har har_."

"You laugh, but I don't hear a denial," he grinned, "In exchange for helping us, Finnick and I helped _him_ as eyes on the ground for potential safehouses. We saw him only the one time, though, and everything after that was done remotely, usually through a third or fourth party. Finnick, with his head for figures and foul mouth, took to computer programming like a fish to water, and then we lived happily ever after clinging to the city's underbelly like a couple of devilishly handsome remoras."

"So you've been harboring a _fugitive_ this whole time?" she said blandly.

Nick scoffed and flicked his paw to dismiss the accusation, "You and I _both_ know the Sparrow's only real crime is evading arrest from that scandal-ridden chief of police before Bogo. Now, you hold up _your_ end of the bargain."

Judy studied him severely, but sighed in relent, " _Fine_ , if only because I like how your eyes glow at night," she teased, and nudged his shoulder with a foot, "So, you and Esther walked down that service road, right? Well, after about the third or fourth vague affirmation, she reasoned that you weren't very interested in her family's neighbors and changed the topic of conversation before ever hinting at the Mallupes."

" _Typical_ ," he grumbled and bit on the knuckle of his thumb, "I almost face-plant into Mack's origin story yet fall short immediately beforehand..."

"I'm sure the sheen in her fur wasn't distracting at _all_ , either," she continued to tease, and this time nudged his cheek with her foot, "Walking all the way from Gid's bakery, and lugging a suitcase no less. Quite the hike, I'd say." She retracted her foot at the playful snap of his jaws, to which she grinned brighter, " _Whoop!_ If we were keeping score, that'd be a point for me, I think."

He glared, even facing her with an elbow still planted on the fence and a fist to his hip, tail whisking behind him, but he scoffed and permitted a smile, "Sly bunny."

"She does like you, you know."

"I know."

A pause, dangling leg swinging lightly, "Fox courtships…"

" _Ah ah ah_ , I'm not volunteering _any_ more information, Ms. Nosy-Wiggles," he said with a waggle of his finger.

"Alright," Judy replied calmly, and sat upright with both legs hanging down once again, but this time facing the farmhouse, "Let's talk about the case."

"Gladly."

"I know there was something you _didn't_ say because it would likely put Gid into a coma if he heard it," the bunny stated, and could not help her sentence inflect a sullen mood at the end as she looked onwards to the Grey family home.

"We're jumping right into it, I guess," the fox said under his breath, and pulled out his phone to address it, "When did you figure it out, Carrots?"

"I didn't figure anything out," she avoided, and rubbed her feet together, "It's just… a feeling I have, about something Grav said." She glanced over as Nick's face lit up not with excitement, but as his phone screen illuminated them both.

"I actually saw him in the restaurant," Nick said, "For only a fleeting second, but he was there… the only bunny in that entire place that looked me in the eye, even if it was from across the room. I hardly recognized him at Phil's when Bo and I went to get a drink, and I overlooked the encounter until I started thinking about his motive for all this. _Why_ he went through so much trouble - and got _into_ so much trouble, considering his otherwise spotless record - to assure the death of some fox he tormented as a kid, when it would have been so much easier to stay in the city and never see or hear from him again.

"As we both know, coincidences are rarely ever _just_ coincidences, and the fact that Grav drew this on a _receipt_ can - easily - be dismissed as a matter of convenience on his part," Nick began, and glanced up to meet Judy's gaze as he held out the snapshot he took of the receipt from their lunch that day, and the drawing of a fox's face upon a shield with the phrase "ka-poof!" written beneath it, "However, Magnus's reaction to the doodle, paired with Grav's aggression towards Gideon in the holding cell and the fact that he dared draw _another_ doodle and leave it where Gideon was _sure_ to find it eventually, points to a significance that I, as a fox and a police officer, would be foolish to dismiss."

Judy nodded in solemn agreement, "Grav went to great pains to keep ears all over Bunnyburrow for the TBR..." and felt the pit of her stomach weigh heavily as that dark feeling dropped into place at a conclusion she already dreaded. It did not fill her with fear or trepidation - never again would she cower to that abyss - but a determination for a greater purpose, "He wants Gideon's head as payment, one way or another, but we're not going to let that happen."

Nick flicked off his phone to spin it idly in his palm, "We did good, partner, but short of _deus ex machina_ , we'll be hard pressed to find a way to bring the Psycho Senior or Junior to justice in time to clear those targets on our backs. Safe as we are for _tonight_ , they're calling out the hounds after the pie eating contest tomorrow, for Gideon especially."

"We did _well,_ " Judy corrected on habit, but then breathed through her teeth "And that's… something we'll need to work on. I can wake up early and make a few calls; we bunnies may not be much for the night, but you can bet we're up at dawn and ready to take on the day. I'll see what I can do with the Burrow Watch, maybe set up some kind of protection for you and Gid."

"I'm absolutely tickled pink to know I'll be guarded by bunnies," the fox said dryly, "For the record, we did both good _and_ well; I know what I said."

"Don't knock the Watch, Nick," _tsktsk_ 'd Judy, "They're not part of the sheriff's office but they work closely with it, ever since that whole thing with the 'Missing Prince' shook the Burrow from the train bridge to Hares' Bluff. Now, I can pull a few strings to-"

Nick's paw flew up as he hurriedly mumbled over his partner's brewing plan, " _Wait_ , wait wait wait… wait," the fox insisted.

" _What_ , what is it?"

"I think I just found our _deus ex machina_ ," he grinned, and gripped his phone as its lock screen illuminated a special kind of crazy in his eyes, the kind that often ran a thrill up and a chill down Judy's spine. She scooted along the fence to peer over his shoulder, "Would you say that the good Felix has an… _invested_ interest in the wellbeing of the bunnies currently in Preds' Corner?"

"… _Yes_ , most of them are from Knotash, where Felix Lapis _lives_ , but I certainly hope you aren't planning to _hurt_ any of those bunnies, Nick."

"'Hurt'? Of _course_ not, I would _never_ ," he smirked, and pulled up a text message for Finnick, that as Judy's violet eyes could readily see, was preparing to encrypt itself, "That said, _mischief_ I will readily invoke, but only enough to grab his attention."

" _Nick_ …"

"You worry too much," he cooed and scratched under her chin, continuing his text message only when she batted at his fingers, "Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"That's what worries me," glowered Judy.

* * *

Some parts of my story are inspired by my most excellent friends and confidante, Nieve (veteran author, master wordsmith, you probably know his work), and proper credit is due: Finnick's prowess in computer programming, as well as the allusion to a corrupt chief of police preceding Bogo, I got from him, and were such superb ideas I couldn't help but utilize them.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: _Uploading this the first time didn't ping my email, so I uploaded it again so you, my faithful followers, are notified._

* * *

Gideon sat at the kitchen table; it wasn't their first table, but the thing was almost as old as he was. When the family had a new mouth to feed, it meant a _new_ table was needed, a bigger and better table, and so Pa built one when the newest Grey was old enough to sit at it. Gideon liked this table, and remembered etching designs into the legs and on the underside with his claws as a kit, and used to do it all the time and on anywhere he could reach but learned _real_ fast to only do that on stuff Pa made for the family. Pa even said he'd make a mighty fine whittler if he kept at it, and got him a small pocket knife so he wouldn't get splinters caught in the quicks of his claws anymore. But he turned out to be a baker, a cook, a _pastry chef_ (as Mr. H would say), started along by Ma, though she wasn't a professional like he was, she got him the basics and he went from there.

2 cups flour

1 tsp salt

1 stick of butter

5 tbsp cold water

1 egg

Milk (for brushing the crust)

Ma kept a close watch of Gideon, and maybe it was because she was a wet nurse back in Knottedwood, or because he was _her_ first and only kit to birth, but she kept him close most all times, at least until he walked on his own. Even so, one of Gideon's first memories - a blurry memory but a memory all the same - is Pa's crying blue eyes. Why crying, Gideon never knew, but his eyes were wet, his paws were huge, and his nose was close enough for baby Giddy to grab onto (and if Pa used his own son as a tissue without realizing it, the baby-kit didn't seem to notice or care). And then there was Essy, well out of her toddling years (but still recovering from what the fox-flu did to her), she regarded her baby brother with scorn at first, since he was getting all the attention. Ma, being the youngest of six kits, put a quick stop to any of the young vixen's harrying by including her in all the things they did with the new baby-kit, and of course if Pa ever held Giddy, he held Essy, too. Pretty soon, she'd be napping with her baby brother, trying to teach him words, and even gotten it in her head that it was _her_ job to make sure he was fed and cleaned on time (though Ma and Pa did all the actual caring for, Essy made sure it was done _on time_ , which she might have been… _creative_ about, every now and then).

Preheat oven to 400°F

Mix flour and salt in large bowl

Crush butter into dry mix

Slowly add water

Knead into ball

Wrap ball in plastic wrap

Set in fridge for 30 minutes

He loved Essy, as any brother would love his sister. Even when she would drag him back home by the tail, because it was after sunset and Pa already called for him twice. Even though he could never hold a candle to her good grades and the full-ride soccer scholarship into the city, especially since he was held back a year and had trouble breathing as a toddler due to the fox-flu. Even though she dyed him bright pink when he was less than two-years-old because she decided she wanted a baby sister, and then shaved him in a short-sighted attempt to get out of trouble. Essy was never his "half-sister", though; she was always his _"sister"_. Ma made sure of that. Ma made sure Essy protected her baby brother, no matter what he did (even if it meant the third-degree afterwards). She was there to protect him from Grav at first, but she couldn't always be there, by no fault of her own, and those were the times Grav struck _harder_. Essy was there _now_ , though, close enough that Gideon could reach out and touch her, but his paws only gripped the aluminum can of cider like a lifeline. He'd never been much for drinking for no reason, but a cousin he never knew existed was in town, and that called for celebration. On the other paw, a day where everything bad in his life came on him like a tidal wave needed something to dull the edge; for all the good it did. Nick and Jude were already outside, and so outside the conversation, yet there wasn't a word shared between him and his sister, only flickering exchanges of identically blue eyes.

⅓ cup white sugar

⅓ cup brown sugar

¼ tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

½ tsp nutmeg

3 tbsp flour

6-8 apples

1 tsp lemon juice

Essy's patience wavered into anxiety and expectation with a prominent throat-clearing. She always won their arguments. _Always_. It was like she had answers prepared a week in advance for everything Gideon could or would say. Like everything he thought was up on a screen for her to read. How he wished - _begged_ \- that she could read his mind now as she always seemed to… how much easier it would be for her to say, "Giddy, I know _all_ about what happened to you, about the scars on your back and head, so you don't need to say _anything_ about it." Then he could break down in a good cry, let all those years of pain and fear flood out his eyes and get it all over with. To just… _lose_ that weight and accept the comfort without coming forward about it. How easy it would be if she did that for him…

Peel and slice apples

Mix dry filling ingredients

Mix wet filling ingredients

Mix all ingredients with apple pieces

Drain apples for 20 minutes

Heat mixture with 3 cubes of butter until thick

Refrigerate

"Giddy…" Essy finally said, eyes cast down a moment before returning to the pallor hidden under his brick red fur, "I… I get the feeling that this is about why you always wear two or three shirts at a time, thick ones, even on hot days… why you never let anyone get close to you…" She reached out to squeeze the knuckles on his trembling paw, if only to relax its claws from digging into the tabletop.

 _Yeah_ , he gulped, _I was so afraid someone would find 'em, but Jude and Nick found 'em, and you must know about 'em, too, but didn't say anything so to spare my feelings, and tha's okay_. He nodded as his jaw set into place and waited for her to take that burden from him. She always knew what to say, whether it was to tease or help him. And now, she'd know _exactly_ what to say to bring her baby brother back to normal, to make everything alright, just like she always did. She was a sly city fox, after all, and that's what she knew to do.

"It took you _years_ to even roll your sleeves up," she continued, and daintily rest her palm on his forearm, letting her thumb brush under the pelt some, "And Ma would throw _such_ a fit about scrubbing caked-on flour from your cuffs." She allowed a soft chuckle. Essy held his paw in both of hers as their blue eyes met again, "I know you tried so hard to hide 'em, Giddy, but Ma, Pa, and I already… we already _know_ about the scars…"

Unwrap ball of dough from fridge

Split into halves and flatten out for crust

Use flour to prevent sticking

Cut one half to fit pie tin

Cut the other into even strips

Gideon choked back his breath, unsure what to make of such a revelation, but tears welled in the corners of his eyes all the same. It certainly made things _way_ easier than he hoped, to know that even Ma and Pa knew about everything, so all he had to do was get through some sobbing and he wouldn't need to be scared of being found out, anymore. He was _never_ not a Grey, but now it felt like he could _be_ part of the family again.

"We knew if we approached you about it, you'd only pull away…" she lamented, "Every hug, every kiss on the cheek… we always respected your space, but I think that was because of the scars, wasn't it?"

Remove filling from fridge

Pour into pie shell

Even out with spoon

Brush edges of pie shell with beaten egg

He nodded, sniffing and choking as he waited for her to mention the muzzle. And the shackles. And the collar. And the whips… all up and down his back, over his haunches and flanks. _She must know about those, too, she's gotta know_ , thought Gideon, _Essy's sharp, sharper than Nick, and he found those scars in a day's time; figured it all out the very next day, too. She prob'ly knows everything about everything, and tha's good, because she'll take it all away and make things better. Tha's what she does._

"It's because you scratch yourself at night," she said, and cradled his paw in hers, "The claw marks all over your arms and shoulders, your sides… even on your face," she sincerely assumed with a quivering chin, "But… it's _okay_ , Giddy-"

Gideon bit his dark bottom lip until it nearly bled, sliding his limp paw from her grasp as he sat up. _She doesn't know anything_ , he realized, _I'll need to tell her everything_ , he dreaded, trembling as the tears welled greater in his eyes. He bit back a cough and rose violently from his chair, knocking it away as Essy tried to reach for him, even standing up herself.

"Giddy!"

 _They hurt me! Hurt me real bad!_ Except he only whined, and did so with such conviction that it was a muffled scream as he remembered when those scars were fresh wounds.

"What's wrong?"

 _They tore me up like paper!_ But still, only a whined scream.

"Talk to me, _please_!"

 _Read my mind, like you always do!_ He whimpered through grinding fangs, and then grabbed for the collar of his flannel to tear open the top two buttons, hunching to yank both shirts from his body to show her in the only way he could figure she'd understand. _Years of shirts, Essy, never without one, even on the hottest days, like you said_. Naked from the waist up, he wrung the fabric until his claws began to rend it, heaving, pleading that his brilliant sister knew what it meant that he finally showed what he kept hidden for so long.

Essy looked on in bewilderment and pity, carefully reaching out to grasp and calm his paws again. "Look," she cooed, "You can't see them. _No_ one can see them," she explained, and smoothed out the fur on his forearms, up to his elbow, and even to his shoulder, feeling each flinch until she cupped his cheeks. "They're just little scratches, tiny nicks that you must think glow in the dark," and shook her head, blinking away tears, and used her thumbs to wipe away his. "You needn't be ashamed of them, either; plenty of preds scratch themselves in their sleep, even adults, especially when they're-"

 _Why now, of all times, can't you figure it out?_ He whimpered again, and suddenly lunged forward to grab her into a mighty hug, but unlike the familial embraces that she and their parents were so accustomed to over the years - when they didn't wrap their arms around him but simply half-hugged with their paws to his chest, and Pa would only sling an arm about his shoulders, careful not to touch his son's back. Gideon shrugged one of her arms around his neck and the other around to his back while his own paws clung desperately on her frame. _You'll have to find out like Jude did. It's the only way…_

"Giddy…" muttered the vixen, and surprised though she was at such a thorough hug, Esther seized the opportunity to hold her baby brother with all her strength, fingers digging into the shaggy fur on his back and nape to rub, "It's okay, I'm here; your big sis is here." It wasn't long until the warmth of their reunion drained as her blood ran cold, for even without the training that came standard in the ZPD to detect physical abuse beneath fur through touch (what Judy and Nick knew as the "Bad Touch" class at the academy), she could still feel the wicked scar tissue in places on her brother's back that he certainly could not reach with his paws alone. Essy frowned as she traced the lines, hearing the sobs and whimpers before Gideon fell heavy to his knees, forehead against her stomach. "What… what is this?"

Lattice top with strips

Cut excess to fit pie tin

Sprinkle milk over top

Dust cinnamon and sugar over top

"N-n-not c-c-claws…" he wheezed.

"I… I don't understand," she began to choke up herself, trembling as she stumbled back into the chair with her brother's head following limply in her lap. Reeling to explain how such wickedness came to be on her brother's back, Essy caressed, sifting through the bangs he got from Pa, same as hers, claw tips lightly raking his scalp - wondering if a song might help him, as their Ma often sang to them when they were kits - but grew weak when she felt the muzzle scars etched into his flesh. It seemed impossible that they were there, but there they were; she'd never felt them before but she'd heard of and seen muzzle scars from select predator abuse cases back at the law firm, and tried with all her heart to deny that they existed on someone she cared so deeply for. "Wh-who did this…?"

Bake at 400°F for 15 minutes

Turn oven down to 375°F for 45 minutes

Remove when top crust is golden brown

Allow pie to cool 45 minutes

Enjoy

"N-n-not m-m-me…" Gideon wept.

And wept.

And _wept_.

* * *

"Don't grab my ears," said Nick, "And relax those thunder thighs of yours, I can't do this without breathing."

"They're not _'thunder thighs'_ ," argued an indignant Judy, "They're lean, powerful legs and for your information, I don't hear _any_ complaints when I do this with _Bo_."

"That's because Bo doesn't have a neck, and he's wrapped around your finger like a balloon on a string."

"I give him _every_ opportunity to say 'No'. By the way, your ears are hard to grab, all smooth and pointed as they are."

"And yet, they're probably still longer than his. So, you and he do this kind of thing all the time, huh?" asked the fox, looking down in doubt, but willing to try anything once (so long as he can later deny ever doing it, if asked).

"With increasing frequency, in fact. Sometimes I just hop up, sit down, and there we go; he handles it like a champ," boasted the bunny, and hunched over some to ready herself, "We've even recorded it. I'll admit, doing it like _this_ is something of a first for me, and of course, with _you_ is a whole new experience, let me just put that out there. Your dimensions are a bit…" she searched for the kindest way to say it with measuring gestures of his snout and shoulders.

"Long?"

She craned her neck to peer down his back at the slowly swaying tail, "We'll go with 'long'. Alright, ready?"

"I'm not sure _why_ I explained how my parents met - which somehow inspired this outlandishly bunny-like behavior - but here we are," answered Nick, and took the first step down onto the horizontal beam connecting two fence posts. His arms and tail were extended like points on a triangle to maintain balance as he remained upright as possible so Judy wouldn't fall off his shoulders, "I'm also certain that 'acrobatic prowess' is one of those 'nurture' things, as opposed to genetic."

"Careful…" cautioned Judy, legs loosely locked around her partner's neck as she kept her core over the top of his head, even pinning her long ears back against her skull to optimize her center of gravity, " _I_ 'm not sure why you agreed to do this," she then responded, a bright smile across her face, "You want to find out just as much as I do, I'll bet."

"Well, Dad told this story thousands of times, and it was a little different with each telling. They always wind up being chased along the edge of a roof, she's muttering 'No no no!' as they get closer to the end, he asks her if she trusts him - to which she yells 'No!' - and then hoists her over his shoulder with a 'Too late!' to jump off the building. There's a long, screaming 'Nooo!' as they drop three stories, through an open manhole cover and into a flooded cistern, _blah blah blah_ , mated-for-life."

"Whoa, Nick, there's a _lot_ that happens in that ' _blah blah blah_ '. Was it just _'splash!'_ and there they are, tie the knot, until death do they part?"

"Take my word for it, Carrots, Dad will be _more_ than happy to elaborate certain parts, and Mom will make every attempt to shut him up."

"Now, see, _my_ parents met in a field pulling carrots," Judy explained, "Dad forgot basic grammar and thought Mom's name was, literally, 'Pretty'."

"You asked about fox courtships," smirked Nick, "Which are _so_ much more interesting than what you rabbits do," until he whooped, arms wheeling to regain footing. They left the end of the fence section where the stability was more certain, the wooden beam swaying only the slightest margin before they pressed on.

"Easy does it," cautioned Judy, eying the next fence post as she lay flatter against Nick's skull.

"So, since I've got bunny on the brain right now," he poised, recalling Brett's reaction to Brady's questionable chivalry, "Is Bo the jealous type?"

"Only as a perception, which I make little effort to refute," she elaborated, "Coincidentally, it began when he and I were repairing a fence against the road bordering my family's farm. A bunch of tailchasers drove up to make some _salacious_ remarks about me, and then the fence post Bo was holding just kinda… _broke_ in half of its own accord."

Nick stopped inching to glance up, "Come again?"

Judy patted his cheek, "I think Bo was more surprised about it than anyone else there, because he apologized for breaking it; luckily, it was one we were replacing. It got those jerk-bunnies to drive off in a hurry, though."

"I _see_ ," mused the fox, "Bo is something of a suitor deterrent, then."

"Don't ever wish for fame, Slick," she grumbled, "I could've started my own flower shop with the amount of bouquets sent me. It made my sisters _so_ envious whenever I visited from the city, but Mom was thrilled to have fresh blooms to put around the house."

"And that all stopped thanks to one trapezoidal rabbit?"

"Just about, but the rest petered off eventually," she huffed, daring to sit up when Nick's balance atop the fence felt sure enough that she was allowed some leeway in repositioning, "He eventually caught wise as to _why_ I would hand him random objects from off the ground if I suspected catcalls and wolf-whistles, cracks him up every time I remind him of it, too."

"Have you ever heard an all-wolf choir? It's hauntingly beautiful, what they can do with howls and whistles," he then froze as a stiff breeze whipped his tie about and rustled his fur, groaning through clenched teeth and glancing about, as though to keep an eye out for any more wayward winds.

"Steady…" cooed Judy, and lay herself back atop his head, "Halfway there…"

"I can see that, thank you."

"Speaking of wolves how's the pack at the precinct treating you? Lieutenant Kela regards me with respect as the first bunny officer, sure, but he doesn't tell me much," she said, grabbing Nick's ears suddenly as he whirled around, both vocalizing their concern of toppling before the fox planted himself on the wooden beam once again. She chuckled nervously but he remained quiet (even if his severe frown belied his inner concern of personal well being), and released the pointed ears when they flicked insistently.

"Super secret pack stuff, need-to-know basis," he dramatized, and swung his leg around to put one footpad in front of the other, "I'm also part of their little text-message chat group, which means I let them know how to get into some of the hippest, hottest clubs in the city through my enviable back alley connections, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that a pack of wolves is one howl away should I ever need them. Plus the occasional gelato run. Gotta have my gelato."

"Do they still test your sense of smell with arbitrary games of 'find the speck of pollen'?" asked the rabbit, once more lifting her torso from off the crimson noggin to spread her arms and erect her ears. The sounds of night were hypnotic, and while a fox balanced on a fence provided no _real_ height advantage that she couldn't acquire by climbing a grassy knoll, the fact that she was sitting atop his shoulders made her feel taller than a skyscraper.

"Do I win their money in friendly betting pools? Yes, yes I do. I mean, I don't win _all_ of it, since Alphie keeps betting in my favor _every time_."

"Gosh, it's almost like that's the whole reason he _wants_ you in his squad," smirked Judy.

"And here I thought Alphonse Kela wanted to be the first wolf in Zootopian history to induct a fox into his pack (apparently I'm called the 'alpha's omega'; who knew, right?)," grinned Nick, "Of course, if I ever _do_ get beyond the pack and onto his exclusive detective's club, I'm bringing you with me."

She moaned gratefully and hugged her partner's head, "That's so sweet of you to say, Slick, but a bunny's _not_ getting into a wolf pack, much less an all-wolf investigative watch, and I wouldn't want to disrupt Kela's group dynamics by elbowing my way in. When it really comes down to it, I have _plenty_ of options to choose from in the precinct that _don't_ involve using the Mammal Inclusion Initiative."

"Hey, if he wants this schnozz of mine, it comes with the best ears on the force. Period. We're partners and that's how it works," asserted Nick. With a final step, he rose up onto the fence post at the end of their balancing act, to which Judy - indulging in a few, simultaneous degrees of excitement - unlocked her legs from around his neck and threw her arms into the air with a joyous exclamation of "Boom!" and victorious laughter. Nick, seizing the opportunity, straightened himself out as a dismounting gymnast earning the gold medal to fling his long-eared partner from his shoulders and onto the downy heather below. He took his bows, bending at the waist to a phantom audience on the left, and then the right, and then down the middle; with his third bow, Judy sprung up with an airborne kick to the butt to give the fox due comeuppance in the form of his own face full of downy heather.

* * *

Esther Grey stood in the kitchen. Her ears were not as keen as Judy's, but they still caught laughter and merriment approaching outside the door, which ceased at the sight of the vixen: arms crossed, weight on one hip, eyes that piercing silver color when her ire bubbled right under the surface. A cold "Hi," was all she bothered to say.

The rabbit edged in far enough that the fox could close the door; because it was obvious to both that they weren't leaving for the foreseeable future. Rather, they stiffly marched to the kitchen table after a directing flick of Esther's head, and each sat in a respective chair.

"E-" began Judy, interrupted though she was by a sharp click from the vixen's laptop upon closing. Instead, she drummed her fingers on the edge of the table, ears down her back, and awaited Esther's inquisition.

After weaving her fingers together and pinching her thumbs between the eyes, Esther looked up as the optic orbs were once more blue, "How long did you know about Giddy's scars?" she asked plainly; professionally, "That's why you let us talk privately, after all, because you both knew about them, and knew they were more than little claw marks."

Pausing thoughtfully, the bunny answered, "Only since this afternoon," with a careful weighing of empathy and formality while running her palms along the table's edge. Judy looked up into her friend's desperately inquiring eyes and continued, "I was… hugging around his neck, because he was in such an emotional state and needed encouragement, and just… stumbled onto them, I suppose. In the ZPD, we're trained to recognize physical abuse beneath the fur through touch, so I recognized his… well, his…"

"His muzzle scars," Esther quietly finished, to which Judy nodded.

'It wasn't a… _great_ leap of logic to figure out what made them," she continued, guiltily, "And knowing that _I_ was part of it. I'm… I'm so sorry, Esther."

The vixen looked to her dear rabbit and touched the woven fingers to her own mouth, only managing to say, "It's okay, Sweet Tea." Given the chance for recovery, she turned to Nick and presented the same, but unspoken, question.

Nick sighed and rubbed his chin, elbows against the table to gesture openness with his paws, "I found them last night," he began, and immediately held up his palms to placate the flash of silver in Esther's irises, "When I was snuggled against my will because we were forced to share a bed, I then chanced upon the scars trying to pry myself from his clutches. _In my defense_ ," he emphasized, holding up his index fingers, "There is never a good time for the 'I think your brother was tortured as a kit' conversation."

Had he struck her cheek, Esther might have handled it better. "As a _kit_?" she wheezed.

The officers exchanged a worried glance.

"During his predator therapy, right after Carrot Days," Judy explained calmly, if uncertainly, "Didn't Gideon say-?"

"No!" barked Esther, "He didn't 'say' anything! All I got out of him was that _he_ didn't make those scars." She buried her face into her palms, fingers raking the long bangs as her tail tucked against her legs, "I thought… I thought he was just scratching himself, all this time, and that maybe those… those _horrible_ scars on his back… and his face… I thought they were more recent…? Maybe I mistook those scars for some other injury, or he was jumped during the pred-scare and never told anyone about it…" And so Esther looked up again, pulling the veil of rationalization from her eyes, "'Tortured as a kit'…" she repeated, "And _we_ sent him off… we _let_ them do that to him…"

"Cherries…" said Nick.

"Sissy…?" asked Judy.

Their simultaneous request for attention went mostly unheard as the vixen's fists struck the tabletop in a thundering echo that silenced not only the house, but the sounds outside, as well. "If I _ever_ find out who did that to my Giddy, I will…" she began, her fierce, silver eyes burning holes into the wood. Judy shrunk in her seat, barely peeking over the wooden surface. Nick was already half out of his chair, ready to bolt for the door. The sudden movement did, at least, catch Esther's attention, pausing her long enough to relax her paws and fold them, sitting upright once again. "…I will bring the full force of the law down upon them," she stated professionally, coolly, and then nodded with decision.

The officers exchanged another worried glance. Regardless, they slowly returned to their seats.

"Forgive me that was wholly uncalled for…" rued the vixen, touching her forehead with an unmistakable slouch in her shoulders.

"If it's any consolation the table is still intact," responded Nick.

"Neither of you deserved that, though. You're absolutely right, Blue, even if you _did_ tell me about Giddy's scars - the full extent of them, I mean - I either wouldn't have believed you or slapped you across the face for bringing up such a painful subject. So… thank you for letting him come forward with it. I'm sure you both helped him come to terms with them, and for that I am eternally grateful.

"I'm just… I'm angrier at _myself_ than at anyone else," she admitted, chin in her palm as he looked at her closed laptop, "All this time, I thought it was simple little cuts or something like that… I can't believe how utterly _blind_ I've been, all these years… How many times has Giddy tried telling me? Or Ma and Pa? And we brushed it aside, that he was being awkward or standoffish… or that he blamed us for sending him there in the first place."

"All this time and Gid _never_ said _anything_?" asked Judy, duly incredulous.

"Only what he recited about 'pent up rage and aggression' or 'self-doubt'. Nothing seemed… _wrong_ , like, _glaringly_ wrong. I'll admit, his emotions could run a little close to the pelt, but-" she gestured to herself, "It's kind of a _Grey_ thing; we're… _passionate_ , but we're not violent. Apart from Carrot Days, he never actually _injured_ anyone, that's why Pa was so upset when he heard about it."

"So, he really _did_ keep everything bottled up inside and never communicated how he felt?"

"If I might interject here," suggested Nick, "That's not _too_ out of ordinary, generally speaking. I assume that even though city foxes and farm foxes are geographically different, our mannerisms are alike, and as foxes, we are sly and invest heavily into trust. Yes, while 'Don't lie to or keep secrets from other foxes, especially family' is something of our credo, I understand that there's some - shall we say - _leeway_ as to what constitutes as 'communicating'. For example, I left the keys on the dashboard of Gideon's van, assuming he would pick them up."

Esther's spirits lifted the slightest as she allowed herself to recall a rosy past, "I remember Ma would rarely ever call us for dinner, only set the table, intentionally loud, letting the smell of warm food draw us in for the meal. If we didn't eat, the food went cold and stored for later. Pa was a bit more… overt, about certain things, like when we were supposed to be inside after sundown."

"And before the fog rolled in?" grinned Nick, to which the vixen giggled, spirits lifted a little higher still.

"He'd yell for us twice, and if we weren't inside by then, he'd go out and get us, which meant a firm swat under the tail from Ma and an early bedtime."

"Fox parents are especially insightful of their kits, you see," he explained to a distant-gazed Judy, "In most cases, when we're young, we'll wait to let our parents figure out what we did or what happened to us - which they almost always _do_ \- but it's never so bad as, well, what happened to Gideon. Where _is_ the blue-eyed boy, anyway?" he asked, craning his neck some to glance about.

"Dead asleep in his bed; just _collapsed_ flat on his belly, arms spread… he's still not wearing his shirt, if you can believe it," and couldn't help but exchange a smile with Nick, from whom an amused, solitary laugh was spared. "We talked a bit after he calmed down, though… not a lot about his scars… he apologized for keeping them a secret, and I told him it was 'okay'," she then scoffed at herself. After a sigh, she continued, "I asked how he managed it for so long… Giddy said he ran through pie recipes in his head when he got upset."

"So," Nick added to steer back some levity, "he's indispensable until morning, then."

The vixen waved her paw dismissively, "I already banged on a pot in his room but he barely stirred, so Giddy's out like a light for some hours at the very least."

Judy returned from her reverie, "Wait, so never in the _sixteen years_ since he got out of pred-therapy did Gideon mention his scars. And he didn't say _anything_ about them tonight?"

"We've been over this, Carrots, foxes-"

A fierce finger thrust in Nick's direction, "Okay, stop it with the 'fox this' and 'fox that' stuff, Slick, because this is a _mammal_ thing. Esther, _how_ did Gideon respond when you asked him about his scars?"

Taken aback, the vixen blinked in recollection, "Well, he was quiet ever since you two left, until I suggested the scars were from scratching himself, and then he just went… _ghastly_ , like all the blood drained out of him. He _flew_ from the table and started whining, trying to scream but wouldn't open his mouth, or something."

"'Wouldn't' or _'couldn't'_?" Judy poised.

"Snark is great in all occasions, but _really_ ," began Nick, but the rabbit's paws were quick as she stood in her chair and clapped his snout shut. He looked at her blandly in the resulting seconds of silence, "Is there a point to this?" he asked out the corner of his lips.

The bunny simply tilted her head and flicked her ears in anticipation as she kept those fingers locked around his mouth, only releasing when his eyes lit up and looked directly into hers. "Kinda like a muzzle, isn't it?"

"Oh, now that _is_ crazy…"

"Think about it; he never, _ever_ said _anything_."

"Right, because if I came to you with a gash in my side, I wouldn't say, 'Hey, Carrots, you'll never guess what _I_ 've been up to'-"

"You'd be more like, "Help, I've been stabbed!'."

"Hello, I'm still here," informed Esther as she looked back and forth between whatever unspoken conclusion the two seemed to share.

"Cherries, you said that when Gideon came back after those three weeks in pred-therapy, he felt… _different_ , right?"

"I _did_ say that, and after what I found out tonight, I can imagine _why_."

Nick pointed at the laptop, "Is that still connected to _the_ archives at  Bagh & Little?"

" _Yes_ , but it's confidential," she answered, "And if you think I haven't already tried searching Giddy's name for _any_ hints-"

"They wouldn't have his name on there, he'd be too young and wasn't convicted of any crimes," Judy swiftly explained, and hopped from her chair as Nick came around the table to flank Esther, "Slick, do you know anyone we can look up?"

"Whoa, whoa," Esther denied, holding up a palm to both, "It's _confidential_ , and unless this has a direct connection to Giddy's pred-therapy, I'm not even _risking_ the betrayal of trust in my law firm by letting either civilians _or_ cops without a warrant snoop on private records."

"I have two names that spring to mind, but they're from over twenty-five years ago-"

"I don't care if it was a _hundred_ years ago, I'm not-"

"What if they were mental health release forms for a closed case?" asked the bunny.

"Now, see, that would make them _public_ records, a completely different kettle of fish. Give me those names," the vixen readily said, throwing open the laptop to bring up the browser of the remote server.

"First name: Okami, Aiko," and then spelled it out for her benefit, "Now, you ladies brace yourselves, because what I heard is that predators came back from there ' _broken_ '."

"Our shining knight," smirked Esther, crossing her arms as the archives took their time loading. Soon enough, the profile picture of a petite, fair-furred wolf appeared on screen, whose bearing was polite yet strong in the face of what was certainly utter defeat. "Says here she attacked a Protective Services agent with a lethal weapon after he tried to take her pups into custody," read the report.

"Aiko lost one of her pups to a hit-and-run some months prior," Nick explained, standing upright but leaning on the back of the vixen's chair as he studied the wolf's face, "She never really got over it, but her mate and other pups kept her going and she _was_ improving. In accordance with family tradition, the Okamis erected a small shrine in honor of the one they lost, which they burned incense at every now and then. The dad, Youta, worked for the city and invited a new hire to bond over dinner, I guess; well, that greenhorn saw the burning incense and heirloom sword on display but reported back as 'open flame and dangerous implements'."

"So, it wasn't even that they were _preds_ , but a cultural misunderstanding?" asked the bunny.

"In a manner of speaking. I recall told that the new-hire was an antelope, so maybe he jumped to conclusions about the family of wolves," and shrugged, "Anyway, the report was filed without Youta's knowing until it was too late, so while _he_ was away at work, PS came in to take the pups away. Aiko flipped and brandished that heirloom sword to protect them, ironically enough. Suffice to say, Youta was _furious_ , but the damage was done, so to speak, so he pulled some strings to get his mate out of the frying pan-"

"And into the fire. They put Mrs. Okami away for guarding her pups." The bunny could hardly believe herself saying it.

"When she got home, she kept a garden of silk flowers that was watered and pruned regularly," he continued, "Last I heard, she _is_ doing marginally better with some _real_ flowers."

"And Aiko Okami never mentioned what happened in pred-therapy?" asked Esther, but to Nick's shaking head.

"Did she ever mention Dr. Lapis?"

"Who?"

"A shadowy name back when I was a kit," said Nick, "Fell off the face of the planet shortly after I heard about the second name."

"We have reason to believe that my Aunt Clea - or 'Dr. Cleopatra Lapis' before she was mated to my Uncle Magnus - worked as a psychiatrist for pred-therapy," Judy elaborated, and went on to further explain, "probably to sign them off as 'sane' for their return to society."

"Really," Esther coolly mused, and flicked the touchpad of her laptop to send the files scrolling through the Okami case until they reached the very bottom, "Then, surely, such a signature should be in here _somewhere_ , shouldn't it. Patient release forms are around… there we go." The three leaned in to study the large "C", followed by a long, horizontal strike, and a large "L", followed by a shorter horizontal strike. "This _does_ release one 'Mrs. Aiko Okami' from psychiatric care." Attached was a profile picture of a female wolf sharing Aiko's fur color, but whose faltering posture, disheveled pelt, and a dead, glassy-eyed stare cried of a broken spirit.

Judy sat through gory crime scene footage without flinching; stood over a coroner's freshly opened cadaver and never so much as gagged; remained as cool steel in the presence of overt violence; but her heart wrenched, seeing what remained of the mother wolf. "What _happened_ to her?" she pleaded.

"The initials match up, at least," Nick pointed to the signature.

"Wait," said Esther, and brushed the touchpad to scroll up a bit higher to reveal a telltale logo at the top of the sheet, "This is a release form from Cliffside Asylum."

" _Why_ …?" groaned Nick, throwing his arms up and pivoting away from the computer.

"That's where Lionheart hid all the 'savages'," and air-quoted, "during the pred-scare. I was still in law school when the PredaTherp scandal hit twelve years ago, but I remember that Cliffside was one of a dozen different hospitals involved in it, yet it was the only one shut down."

"'Structural integrity issues', so goes the official story," scoffed Nick.

"It makes _sense_ , though," Judy pondered after she recalibrated to the current matter, "I remember hearing some of the senior officers talking when Bellwether's victims were evacuated from Cliffside, and apparently the place was _designed_ to house 'vicious predators'. At the time, it sounded like an obvious observation, but they must have been talking about the asylum's _original_ intent."

"I know it _'makes sense'_ , it's the sense-making that concerns me," the fox responded, half-pivoting back around to lean as casually as he dared on the chair.

Judy hopped up into Esther's lap and took control of the touchpad, ears forward as her violet eyes focused on the screen, "Let's see… 'patient' has 'recovered'… 'bloodlust stayed'… 'primal urges'… 'deemed safe for return into civilized society'… 'healing process'…" She harrumphed and crossed her arms, even reclining on Esther and crossing one leg over the other as she reread the form.

Nick glanced at the casual intimacy of females, specifically bunnies and those influenced by bunnies. Esther glanced up at him, elbows rested on the arms of the chair as she leaned back.

"Something on your mind, Blue?"

"Nope," he denied, "not in the slightest."

"Aside from _flagrant_ anti-predator terminology, there's no smoking gun in here," grumbled the bunny, and then leaned forward to access the keyboard anew, "We need more data points. Slick, give me the next name," she instructed.

"Oh, please, help yourself," dismissed Esther, and got comfortable as best she could while someone - granted, small and dear to her heart - was sitting on her.

"Sorry, what?" asked a distracted Nick.

"The next name; you said you had two, right?"

"Oh, yes, I might have one or two."

"So, let's have it."

"Pounceski, Alexander," Nick relented, and again spelled it out for her convenience.

"Thank _you_ ," Judy added in a sing-song tone, and tapped the Enter key to commence a new search.

"Now, Xander was _actually_ a criminal, busted for money laundering and about to face a long time in the slammer, but he opted for a lesser sentence by cooperating with the authorities and spending a week in pred-therapy. A _big_ tiger, had a mean streak a mile wide, history of violence, _et cetera_." The profile image that popped up was, indeed, of a broad-shouldered cat with coarse, snowy striped fur boasting a scarred snout and jaw, and eyes that shot daggers from ten yards.

"I recall Tyler - his nephew - told me that he spent all day counting, sorting, and _recording_ Lucky Chomps marshmallows," said the fox, "Emptied the box only to dump everything back in and repeat the process, morning to night, each and every day. I saw him at it one time… it was funny as a kit, but disturbing in retrospect. He passed away a few years ago, but I don't know if he ever recovered. What's his release form say?"

"Let's find out," Judy said and scrolled down to the bottom of the file. There was the form of Cliffside Asylum with an identical signature. The attached photo was the same set of shoulders pitifully slouched, the same fangs bared but wider in a pained, straining smile, and a set of fragile eyes. She trembled more at this hollow shell than she ever would at the fierce glower of his 'before' image. A sharp breath steadied her gathering wits, "It looks like the same as the other… oh wait, _this_ is new: 'psycho-correctional procedure proved successful'."

"'Psycho-correctional procedure'?" Esther disbelieved.

A critical grunt sounded from Nick's mouth, "You were right, Carrots, they muzzled those preds with more than belts and metal."

"Are you _serious_?" Esther further disbelieved, if on a different matter, "I can understand traumatizing these poor folks to their breaking point, but if you're talking about what I _think_ you're talking about…"

Judy turned sidesaddle in her friend's lap, "Yes, a complete mental rewrite. Outlandish… far-fetched… but Aunt Clea is a _Lapis_ , and that's a lot of resources in all the right categories."

"Lapis… as in _that_ 'Lapis'?"

"The good Felix, Mr. Hexward himself; whether he knew about her dark dealings or not will be something only _he_ can attest to," Nick said with a cunning air, "The Bunny Once Known as Dr. Lapis must've had access to drugs (experimental or otherwise), the knowhow to use them, facilities, and I wouldn't doubt motivation, too."

"What _possible_ motivation could she have-?" challenged the vixen, stopped short by the patient, brilliant violet eyes of Judy waiting for her to come to the same conclusion as she and Nick. Esther was a defense attorney that specialized in predator cases, after all, so it was no rare circumstance to hear that a predator needed "correcting". While her eyes gleamed to a realization, she continued in her fierce denial, groaning to voice the inner battle of normalcy bias fighting tooth-and-nail to once more veil her vision with a rationalization that worked well in the strict world of Zootopian law. It spoke volumes against the sheer amount of crazy of such an idea, however, the fun thing about 'crazy' is that the reasons which the sane come up to work against it often end up _empowering_ it. Esther sighed as she rubbed her temples, "Okay, assuming that Clea Hopps is some kind of evil brainwasher, _if_ \- and I must emphasize the gravity of this 'if' - she found a way to 'fix' preds, wouldn't we have seen something about it by now, especially if this atrocity has been going on for over _twenty-five years_?"

Judy asked Nick without speaking.

Nick answered Judy with a leaden sigh, and flicked a finger to the screen, to which the bunny eagerly turned about in preparation for input. "Loxley, Fuchsia," and hesitantly spelled the name.

"' _Lox_ ley'," paused the rabbit and glanced over her shoulder when she typed it out, but did not yet strike the Enter key, "Is this that 'Loxy' that screamed in your ear as a kit?"

"One in the same," admitted Nick, "Fuchsia Loxley, a thorn in my side since grade school, lording some claim to 'fox nobility', so we all called her 'Loxy' for short."

The search commenced and up popped what was a vixen of undeniable, breathtaking beauty and a sly, lofty leer with what looked like the hint of a gemstone embedded in one of her fangs, only visible if grinning especially wide. "Wow," Esther commented blandly, "That's a… she's a real piece of work, isn't she."

"She was so _awkward_ as a kit; wore braces, you know, and was fat… you could rub tree branches on her to get ugly sticks," he explained, slumping on the back of the chair some as he looked at the profile picture, "I hated her guts with every fiber of my being, but when she blossomed she was the hottest thing on two legs, and she knew it. Could knock over a group of guys with one sweep of her tail and then keep them on strings down the length of a football field. She could cry _on command_ , and with real tears, too. Loxy was everything good and bad about foxes."

"A manipulative, lying vamp, you say?" poised Esther.

"Learned it from the best."

"Who, _you_?" snarked Judy.

"Her dad," answered Nick, not returning the snark, only staring forlornly at the photograph, "Felix Loxley," and tapped one of his own fangs, "had a gold tooth, right here."

The bunny frowned, "No wonder your eye twitched whenever you said 'Felix'… "

"If you hated her so much, Blue, why does it sound like you knew her intimately?"

A long, weary sigh preceded his answer, "Because we hustled together, she, Finnick and I. Right after high school, I got my diploma and decided that I paid my dues to society, so we assembled into a group of shifty foxes to do what I figured we did best. Our greatest ploy was the 'family scheme', where I was the dad, she the mom, and Finnick our son; it worked great for years," his eyes tore from the screen to look at Esther, "I still hated her, though, because every time I heard her voice, I remembered her ear-piercing scream, loud and clear. I'm pretty sure it made me immune to her wiles. Go ahead and scroll down," he instructed to Judy.

At the bottom awaited another profile picture, but instead of broken, or scared, or traumatized, or anything that would lead them to believe that _anything_ was amiss; she was a plainly smiling vixen with vacant, happy eyes (and the noteworthy absence of her gemstone). The females addressed Nick for an explanation, and found he returned to his slump.

"One day, Loxy didn't show. It wasn't _particularly_ strange, because she'd disappear for a week only to pop up out of nowhere, ready for a new scam. Eventually, her dad found us, half-hysterical, ranting about how 'They got her, they got her' and begged us to help him search. I was torn, because while she was a good hustler, she was a bad fox; part of me felt she deserved what she had coming to her. When I saw her again, it was like _that_ ," and pointed at the picture, "hanging on the arm of some awkward pig with poor taste in music. I knew I would never hear her scream again… oddly enough, the thought saddened me."

"This case is from just over twelve years ago… she must have been one of the last victims in the PredaTherp scandal," Judy concluded.

Esther studied the profile and the accompanying releasing signature, "I suppose if no one noticed that anything was _wrong_ , then no one would say anything. And the only ones who _would_ recognize that something was 'wrong'-"

"Were probably close friends and family that might be less than credible," Nick surmised, "Never seen Mr. Loxley again, if you wondered."

" _That_ 's not suspicious," sprung Judy's ears.

"I _did_ hear he crawled into a bottle and never came out. They found him in his apartment after the neighbors complained about the smell," he said with a scratch of his nape.

"So… _not_ suspicious," drooped Judy's ears.

The vixen did her own slumping on the armrest, still looking at Loxy's picture, "Ya'know, I can't help but look at her and think, 'There but for the grace of Aslan* goes Esther Grey'," and wrapped her arms about Judy to hug her close, head resting between the long ears with an introspective hum.

Judy took a moment to lean into the vixen, paws at the 'gloved' arms, looking up at her with a smile, and then smirking, "Ruth would rein you in so fast your head would spin."

"Ma bushwhacks with the best of 'em," mused Esther, and squeezed the bunny once before releasing her.

Nick returned to his seat and spun it about so that he might straddle the back, arms folded with his chin atop, "So those are only the ones I know of, but it looks like Dr. Lapis (as _I_ will continue to know her as) perfected this 'mind-muzzle', of which our beloved Gideon was part of the developmental process _for_. As Carrots so eloquently put, he _couldn't_ talk about what happened to him, even though it was both brutal and painful. I don't know if everyone else involved in this underwent the same torture, but I'd bet my tail they were 'muzzled' in the same way."

"With advancements in psychology and pharmaceutical research, it wouldn't be _too_ out of the ordinary to think that each of these predators were mentally bound to silence," Judy continued, hopping into her seat.

"Which - and you can back me on this, Cherries - was by Gideon's great fortune to be born and raised a _fox_ -"

"Because we're taught to convey messages without speaking," grinned Esther, and spoke more to Judy than Nick, "It's like a game for fox families to use hints and tells to get their real meaning across. I never really thought it was anything more than normal talking, until I found out that my friends sometimes had _no_ idea what I was on about."

"And you both wonder why foxes are seen as 'shifty'," smirked the bunny, and then stood on her chair to lean forward on the table to return to the present issue, for she knew they were far from done. "I realized that there was something else going on with Gid when he described one of the few memories from predator therapy."

Esther's ears dropped and eyes widened, "He _remembers_ something from then?"

"To stack on the horrors, both moral and ethical," Nick added, "they stripped him down to only a muzzle and a collar to teach him _their_ rendition of 'evolved' and 'civilized'."

The vixen stared, "Everything I hear about this churns my stomach anew."

"Which got me to thinking when I heard about his years of silence," Judy continued, "Pred-therapy was advertised as 'correction' in the modern vernacular-"

"As opposed to 'tortured-to-death' in days of yore," sneered Esther.

"Like there's anything wrong with _being_ a pred," joined Nick.

"Well, what they were trying to 'fix' was primal instincts, the limbic system itself. You might as well do a full lobotomy," and swiftly added, "Which _was_ done in the distant past, but I'm not going into that."

"How kind," huffed the fox.

"So, instead, Aunt Clea must have been part of a research group to remove those instincts without damaging the brain. It involved damaging the body, though, to put predators into such a frantic state of fight-or-flight that they would _have_ to revert to base instincts to survive. Of course, I'm talking about extreme, controlled circumstances," the rabbit said, "Nothing that would come up in everyday events."

" _Sheesh_ ," scoffed the vixen, "if they wanted 'fight-or-flight', they could've fed those preds Night Howler, no need to flay the flesh from their bones. I mean, you both saw what Bellwether did with it. One blossom would be _plenty_ to run tests on."

Judy plopped back down into her chair, "It's more likely they were given a cocktail of adrenaline, steroids, and probably hallucinogens. The effects of _midnicampum holicithias_ are ephemeral, normally, and it's only last year, _maybe_ two or three years, that it's been made long term or even permanent through the chemistry of Doug Ramses."

"Which, actually, brings us to the _big_ issue for tonight," Nick said, and turned his chair back around to fold his paws in front of him.

" _Oh no_ , it gets _worse_?" groaned Esther, collapsing momentarily before straightening herself, "It probably involves Giddy, doesn't it."

"I'd say that's _one_ plot twist we don't have to prepare you for," the fox decided, "Which was really my concern in telling you about all this."

"Gid already knows, and so does Bo. First, I want to apologize for keeping this from you, Sissy, you didn't deserve being kept in the dark about this, but as it stands, Gid didn't have a choice in the matter and Bo was brought in on Saturday out of necessity. Second, Rachel knows about it, too, we opened up an official investigation-"

"Hold," came the immediate palm of her paw, "If this is Sheriff Rachel Longmare we're talking about, and this is _indeed_ an official investigation into suspicious activity, then any input _I_ provide can be legal counsel. Now," she continued, and rose from her seat in a rather stately manner, "since you did not come forward with this sooner, and involved an otherwise unconnected private citizen, it's reasonable to believe that a good deal of this matter is… _ad hoc_?"

"Well, if you're going to get _technical_ about it…" answered Nick.

"Therefore, _we_ are going to do this by the book. Pardon me a moment," and swept from the table with a graceful wheel of her tail.

"Does she usually get like this?" he whispered to Judy.

"Cut her some slack, she just found out her brother was whipped and beaten and never came forward about it," she whispered to Nick.

"This is some 'putting things right' spiel, then."

"And maybe not just for Gid, but the Okamis, the Pounceskis, the Loxleys, and every other predator family that had to pick up the pieces of their loved ones. If this trail leads back to Uncle Magnus and Aunt Clea - which I don't doubt it _does_ \- justice can finally prevail, closure be had, and hopefully prevent future tragedies," she said with hushed excitement.

Esther returned, toting along a briefcase that she set to lean against the table's leg. The flap unclipped and she stooped to pull out a notepad, a recorder, a pen, a set of reading glasses, and a pair of bobby pins.

"I feel like we should be paying you a fee of some kind," remarked Nick.

"I'll waive it, since I love you both so much," she said, setting out her office space assortment, and directed her laptop to face her, "However, I _must_ stress that while Rachel is legally obligated to listen to each and every claim that comes through the sheriff's office, if you can't convince _me_ about whatever _this_ is," said Esther, using her favorite writing implement in an encompassing gesture, "Then it doesn't stand a chance in a court of law."

"Fair enough," agreed Judy.

Nick complied with silence, watching as Esther smoothed out her bangs to wrap around the bottom of and fasten them to the fur tufts directly behind each ear with a bobby pin. Though in sweatpants and a tank top, with the reading glasses placed on the edge of her snout she looked about as professional as one could in the circumstances provided. The fox leaned over ever so slyly to whisper something behind his paw to the bunny. Judy's ears warmed before she struck his arm near the shoulder with a lightning jab. "Ow," he said simply, and rubbed the spot.

"You probably deserved it. So, start at the beginning, and when you get to the end, stop," grinned the vixen, and turned the digital recorder towards the pair with a faint chime to activate it. "This is Esther Grey, attorney-at-law. Please state your names for the record…"

And so they did. Nick began with his description of the whipped cream on Friday night, the resulting hallucinations and realization that it was a secret drug test on unaware bunnies with Gideon as not only a patsy, but a target. He explained the involvement of the suspicious rams, Tad and Dent Wooler, the former he crossed paths with on Friday and what he suspected was a front to deal drugs, and the latter coming forward to involve Gideon in the TBR with "supplies from his cousin in the city". Judy included the effects of the drug as best they knew, and how they disposed of it and made a new batch with Bo's aid and Ms. Clara's resources. She explained how Grav pursued them and sent them the "ka-poof!" message, and how _she_ tried the whipped cream herself. Nick explained how not only did Bo Briar know about the events set in motion, but also how Lanny Wild, a previously unknown nurse from South Lions Gate, provided the antidote to bring Judy back from the brink, and so was brought into the fold, if only for less than an hour. They explained how Magnus Hopps was their prime suspect, Felix Oswald Lapis and Hexward might be unwittingly involved, and how Grav Hopps provided what amounted to a spy network (and even what was most likely his motivation).

During it all, Esther remained stoic, inquisitive, and challenged them for details or explanation, and worked with them well past midnight.

During it all, Gideon slept.

And slept.

And _slept_.

And dreamt.

* * *

Apple pie recipe provided by WikiHow: Bake-an-Apple-Pie-from-Scratch

*Author's Note: Aslan is, technically, licensed as a Disney character, and for the sake of this story any references made to him will come from _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ , _Prince Caspian_ , and _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_.


	16. Chapter 16

Down the hall from where Judy, Nick, and Esther reviewed the case of the toxic whipped cream, Gideon was thousands upon thousands of miles away…

In the Highland kingdom of DunBroch, ruled by the brave Bear King and his wise queen, there lived near the forest a single red fox whose trade was woodcarving - a noble profession learned from his father and would someday teach to his kit… should he find a mate. His name was Gideon, and little did he know that his fate was set to change that very day, and it all began as normally as any could.

The sun was yet to crest the horizon, but a fox's eyes were keen in the dark so the early twilight might as well have been mid morn. He stirred from sleep and slipped into the faint chill, releasing a yawn and pushing the shaggy bangs from his eyes to approach the nearby washing bowl. When Gideon saw the threadbare sleeves of his favorite shirt (for it was his only shirt) he grunted and slipped it off, finding fabric worn from use which threatened to rip not only up the arms but also over the shoulders, as well as covering the back in a scattering of tears.

"What a wrecked rag _this_ is," he scoffed, tossing it on the bed to fetch up his tartan and affix it into a kilt, "My brother-in-law will have a word or two about _you_ when he gets here today," the fox warned the shirt, advancing to pick it up again and bring it into his shop so he wouldn't forget of it. His brother-in-law was a tailor - a noble profession learned from his father and would someday teach to his kit - one of such skill that he could turn sackcloth into the finest shirt, but he was also a master archer, and was due to pick up a bow he had commissioned to have magic etched into its wood.

Not only could Gideon carve wood, but also imbue magical properties into it through the etching of runes, so long as he was in the part of the forest where the roots and trunks bent in certain ways. So far as Gideon knew, he was not the fastest carver or the most powerful caster in the kingdom, but he was the best to combine the two crafts with his steady paws and nimble fingers. With dawn a ways off still, he would need to visit the ring of standing stones one last time to finish the bow.

With a satchel of spare tools, a half-loaf of bread, some dried fish, a bite of cheese and an apple, along with a small jug of cider, Gideon set off to traverse the woods' depths to where the magic ran thickest and the will-o'-the-wisps danced on the edge of one's sight. After the trail long since vanished and the lost were blessed indeed to again be found, Gideon trod upon a short, stone-lined path up to a gate he'd erected between two nearby trees, and snapped his fingers to flip a posted sign from "OUT" to "IN"; even though the gate was the only boundary there it was a formality that he enjoyed, considering no one else was supposed to know about his second workshop, much less _where_ it was (it's just good practice to never conjure where you carve, after all).

Sitting himself down with the unstrung bow in the middle of a glen of downy grass and clover, surrounded by a small circle of standing stones, the woodcarver breathed in the early morning air with closed eyes. When opened again, their natural blueness was even bluer than before, and he could see what on the bow was left to etch. It was a delicate process, for a single groove too deep or wide, even a _splinter_ out of place could ruin days of work.

"Tha's quite impressive," said a voice from overhead.

Gideon fell back with a yelp, the ethereal glow of his eyes fading like smoke in the breeze when he swept the boughs above. "Oi', show yerself!" he called, rolling to his feet to glare at whom he could not see, and then added, "It's _rude_ to sneak up on someone who's working."

"To think you were so easily spooked," came a sly reply, and from the shadows slipped a figure whose cloak was fastened by an iron sigil on one shoulder, and a bow slung over the other. Gideon couldn't mistake the sigil's triskelion of three bears - often worn in silver by the royal family - and the immediately recognizable woodland dress of one of the princess's huntsmaids. "Forgive my skulking, but you're not an easy fox to follow through these woods," she commended, dropping gracefully off the thick branch from which she perched to pull back the hood and reveal a silver vixen with purple eyes. "I came early this morn to commission one of your bows, but you were already headed for the treeline. I'll admit, I figured to track a woodcarver at a saunter, but nearly lost you twice."

"Well," he paused, considerably less annoyed than before he saw her face, "You shouldn't be so far in these woods as you are; not even the snakes or owls dawdle too long here. Who _are_ you, anyway?"

"Judith, oathsworn huntsmaid of the Princess Merida," she said, standing at attention.

"I'll be more'n happy to etch a bow for you, Lady Judith, but not until I finish _this_ one and get back to my workshop; so you go ahead and make yourself comfortable, because I'll be a while still," he instructed, and heavily sat on the grass to feign indignance.

"I wouldn't expect an escort out of a _forest_ , Master Gideon," Judith stated as politely as possible, and spared a wry smirk as she leapt and climbed up into the boughs to retrace her path, "I'd hand in my sigil if anyone found out about such a thing."

The woodcarver didn't bother to stop her, only sending her off with an affirming grunt, for his eyes were already glowing their bright, gentle blue as he lay out his roll of finely attuned etching equipment. His claws served well enough for quick touch-up or preliminary work, but sharpened picks and blades were needed for his mastery of craft. After an hour of intricate, dedicated etching, Gideon used a fine brush to wipe away the dust and splinters of the new grooves, blowing as needed before inspecting his handiwork. It was time for a quick bite, so he rose up to stretch his arms, chest, legs and back from sitting still such a long time.

Returning to the gate, he leaned over it with folded arms in address to the put-off huntsmaid sitting just outside, "Did you want to join me for second breakfast? I'm afraid it's only some fish and bread. Not usually in the habit of entertaining guests out here, y'see."

"Aye, thanks," Judith grumbled as politely as possible, standing up from the rock she made her seat and crossing the threshold with a frustrated glare, "Why couldn't I open, climb over, or shout through your gate? It jus' seems to _ignore_ all the things that gates _do_ ," she harped on, "And I must've run into it _twenty times_. Usually when I leave a gate and don't turn around, I don't come _back to it_ , yet no matter which way I went I run into _you_ and your _gate_."

He scoffed, "My gate works _fine_ , because it _clearly_ keeps out distractions while I'm busy. And you followed me in, so you can only follow me out again, tha's how it _works_ in these woods," Gideon explained, and sat himself down on a log, which he'd carved into a bench some years ago, "Now, did you want some food or not?"

" _No_ ," she huffed, paused, and then accepting the seat adjacent to him, said "Thank you, but I have my rations."

"You brought _rations_ to see a woodcarver?" and took out the half-loaf to tear it in half again, holding it out to Judith.

"Thank you…" she muttered, and accepted the bread, pushing back her hood before she began to eat, "Gamy magic, not making sense. Plenty well and good when it's in stone, metal, and wood, but out and about like it is _here_?" and stared before she took another bite. "Is this _bread_ made of magic?"

The red fox chuckled and wiped crumbs from the darker fur of his chin, "In a way, I s'pose it is. I baked this bread with a log I etched a few runes into that'll burn all day and night but never go out, and cooks me food when I use it under a pot or in the stove."

Judith took a moment to process this, and smirked, "Now tha's jus' _cheating_. If cooking isn't your thing, then get yourself a mate; I'm sure they wouldn't mind a magical spoon that stirs the stew itself."

"A spoon that stirs its own stew… now why didn't _I_ think of that…"

They visited through second breakfast, sharing the fish and cider while splitting the apple and cheese before Gideon got to work finishing up the bow (as Judith remained quiet and patient throughout, so as not to distract what was clearly a delicate process).

"So who's this for, if ye don't mind my asking?" Judith chanced, but not before the woodcarver's eyes returned to their normal blueness.

"It's for a _client_ ," he said matter-of-factly, wrapping up the finished product to sling the sack's shoulder-strap across his chest, "And you can expect the same discretion on _my_ part when I make _your_ bow."

"So you really _will_ make it, then?" Judith said excitedly, if skeptically, stepping out of the workshop at his ushering so he might close the gate and snap the sign to "OUT". "It's not that I _need_ it, I shoot plenty well without magic, but some of the other huntmaids have runes in _their_ bows, and do the most _amazing_ shots with them."

"Magic's not about making you _better_ than you already are, Judith," he explained, stepping carefully over upturning roots and through deep puddles of foliage, always sure to keep an eye over a shoulder at his charge, "it takes away yer worries and doubts so _you_ can be better by yer _own_ strength. Any spell that does otherwise is no more than _glamour_ , meant to _trick_ you into thinking you're something you're _not_."

"Wha's the point of magic, then, if not to do things ya' can't?" she challenged, taking great care to always remain within arm's reach of the tip of his tail, and stepping only where _he_ stepped, for straying even the slightest bit might as put her a half-mile behind.

He grunted as he held up a branch for her to stoop under, "O' _course_ magic does things ya' _can't_ ," and stepped forward to once more take point of their return trek, "I'm talking about things ya' _won't_ do that it doesn't, or _shouldn't_."

"How's _that_ make sense?"

"How's it…?" he grimaced, and turned full on her with waning patience, " _Fine_ , I'll give you an _example_ : that ever-burning log of mine keeps the workshop and house warm all year 'round, and it also cooks me food so that I can focus on my trade without _worrying_ about preparing proper meals. It's not that I _won't_ cook for myself, it's that I _can't_ dedicate myself to my craft _and_ get bent out o'-shape wondering what to have for supper," and then gestured to her, "D'you suppose _you'd_ be good enough to be one of the princess's huntsmaids if _you_ had to worry about baking yer own bread each day? _No_ , tha's why the castle has a _kitchen_ staffed to make meals for ev'ryone who lives there, aye?" he postulated, "So that they can focus on guarding, hunting, cleaning, ruling, or whatever all else one _does_ in a castle."

Her paws set to her hips, " _Oi'_ , no need to bite my head off," she said, and then followed in step as he turned away and continued along the arching, winding root bridging a gap, "Okay, so maybe I _don't_ know much about magic, but if you're going to talk in _riddles_ ye can't expect me to ask straightforward questions."

"Yeah, well," he began, and paused as he kept walking, "Sorry for snapping, but you wouldn't _believe_ the kind of things I get asked to etch runes or carve spells for, it'd turn yer fur… I guess it's already gray, but you get what I'm saying." Stopping at an ivy-curtained wall, Gideon reached up to grab a pawful to hoist himself from the sturdy root and so out of the deeper, magical forest.

"Hey, I was wondering, since _I'll_ be ordering one of those bows soon, I _should_ know more about what goes in it, aye?" she proposed, "If it won't make an arrow fly truer or catch fire mid air, what _does_ it do? All _I_ know is enchanted bows make for better archers, but that doesn't sound the half of it."

"Nothing flashy, jus' keeps the wood and bowstring for longer, and makes it harder to pull back an arrow when you're practicing, but _easier_ when hunting or fighting."

"And how's it know to do _that_?"

" _Tha's_ a trade secret," he grinned.

"You and yer _secrets_ , so closely guarded," she smirked, "I hardly wonder if I should bother getting a bow _at all_ ; it might burst into flames as soon as I nock an arrow."

Gideon stopped his ascent up the lattice and pivoted back to face her, "Okay, how 'bout this, I'll tell you _one_ secret about magic that was taught me: ev'ryone _has_ magic, even if we don't know how to _use_ it, but the deepest magic, the _really_ powerful stuff, we already _know_ it, but jus' need _reminding_ that we know it." And then proceeded to climb the short distance.

Judith stared up at him as he hoisted himself up over the edge and onto higher ground. "It can't be a ' _secret'_ if ev'ryone _knows_ it, now can it?" she called, and then followed before the tip of his tail whisked out of sight, nimbly vaulting up the ivy-covered wall and so into familiar territory.

The trees and roots no longer wound or twisted as both the forest floor and canopy were sure in their places, moving only at a breeze rather than of their own accord. The foxes bid each other a friendly farewell, but long after Judith hastily vanished in return to the castle and the duties of a huntsmaid, Gideon found her lingering in his thoughts. Never before had _anyone_ followed him so far into the woods, especially not all the way to this workshop nestled in the depths primeval; any reasonable mammal would have given him up for gone after the first time they lost him, but she kept at him _twice_. " _Twice!_ " he marveled aloud to the very air, sun, and grass, and anything else that happened to be passing by.

Back at his workshop - the one at the edge of the forest and known by those in the kingdom looking for a whittler of wood - Gideon set his satchel and the finished bow on a table. A paw rubbed his growling stomach with a grimace, for he'd only eaten _half_ a second breakfast (even if it _was_ shared in good company), so both the trek through the woods and the conjuring left him hungrier than usual. "Time for elevensies," he chimed, and went to his pantry to put some oats in a bowl with a bit of sugar, and then poured in cream with raspberries, all of which he placed in a pot to sit over the merrily crackling log on a cast iron stand. Next, he filled water and sprinkled tea leaves into a kettle, one ideally sized and shaped to also act as a lid for the pot.

Awaiting his porridge to cook, the woodcarver brought out a project he'd been at for a while now, a chess set of the royal family: King Fergus and Queen Elinor, of course; the three princes, Hubert the scholar, as the king's bishop, Harris the hunter, as the king's knight, and Hammish the warrior, as the king's rook; the princess, Merida, whose fiery passion of youth was tempered into a stately (but still _very_ fiery) figure of Highland royalty, could _only_ stand adjacent to the queen, to whom she'd grown close to over the years, and thus be the queen's bishop; which left the queen's knight and rook… Merida didn't have sisters, but she did have _huntsmaids_. This brought Gideon's thoughts back to Judith, the vixen with the silver fur and the purple eyes that somehow tracked him through the deeper parts of the forest. To make her the queen's knight or rook might be a bit presumptuous, but that didn't stop him from carving her likeness into a block of wood. So, shavings curled away with each slice of his keen whittling knife, and though the edges were only just removed, he could see her inside it and kept his blade swift and true to let her out.

A shrillness pierced the air as the kettle announced itself, and with it Gideon cried out from his focus, dropping his knife onto the table to grab hold of the cut right beneath the padded tip of his thumb. Clenching the paw so his injured digit was held tight under his fingers freed him to grab and wad the nearest rag to stymie the wound. It was not his first cut, nor his second, tenth, or hundredth (most weren't usually _this_ bad), but the pain was still sharper than the knife and the blood redder than his fur. Using the table's surface to apply pressure through the rag onto his thumb, Gideon bit off a long strip of the fabric as best he could to bind the small gash (practice makes perfect, after all), before cutting the excess with his teeth.

First, he inspected the makeshift bandage and found it held fast. Second, he inspected the rag and found that it was his shirt. Holding it up he frowned at the new tear and blood stains, "My brother-in-law really has his work cut out for him…" he grunted, and slung it over an adjacent chair to answer the kettle's whistle. As it almost always did, the magical fire cooked his food and steeped his tea to perfection; Gideon lifted the kettle from its place as a lid and pulled out the bowl of creamy-sweet porridge with crisp, juicy raspberries. After he poured himself some tea, Gideon sat himself down in a moment of silent reverence, before picking up the bowl to knock back the mid-to-late morning meal, and wash it all down with a swig of tea.

Well through the morning, long since neighboring houses awoke to begin their own businesses, and well into the progress that Gideon made with Judith's figurine, sanded and etched with such detail that even her sigil was recognizable, the shop's bell solemnly clanged. Gideon pivoted on his stool to study the empty workshop and adjoining storefront, nostrils flaring, ears flicking, eyes narrowing, "Hmmm…" he pondered, claw-tipped fingers drumming on the shaving-covered tabletop of his workbench, tail giving a suspicious swish. A white noise from distant outside activity and the merry crackle of his everburning log were all which moved the air, until he heard a hurried scampering of tiny paws. He grinned devilishly.

" _Uh oh_ ," he loudly dramaticized, drawing out each sound in a deep, resonating tone, "it sounds like I've got me a _bogle_ sneaking about my house," and rose up from his seat in a lumbering motion to proceed stomping about, stooping to peer under tables and benches laden with his handicraft. He could smell where his quarry _had been_ , but it wasn't until the muffled giggles did he reach behind a bookshelf to pull out a fox kit flailing and shrieking in boyish glee. "I gotcha!" declared Gideon, playfully biting and snarling around his nephew's head, which in turn bit back at his chin, nose and lips, before sitting the small fox on his arm against his chest with the other paw resting at his own hip, "And where's yer Da at, 'eh? He didn't have you pick up his bow by your lonesome, I hope, he _knows_ tha's not how the magic works."

The kit was bright red like his father, but had his mother's deep, blue eyes. Garbed in a shirt made (and, as boys would be boys, repeatedly mended) by the tailor which sired him, as well as a fox's tartan sized for someone his age, he quietly smiled and pointed towards the workbench which his uncle was so expertly diverted from.

" _Ach_ , Nicholas!" exclaimed Gideon, swatting at the air with the back of his paw in the general direction of a tall fox lounging on his stool, "Is it _so_ hard to greet your own kin like a _normal_ mammal?"

"You're under the impression that this _isn't_ normal," Nicholas stated with confidence, and picked up a figurine which the master woodcarver so clearly invested his best skill into, "The question you _should_ be asking is _why_ you keep falling for it, time after time. By the way, who's _this_ charming lass?"

After setting down his nephew with an ushering push with his tail, Gideon trod over to the table and its bundled commission, "She's someone I met this morning, while I was working on _your_ bow, which by the way is done and perhaps some of my _best_ work."

"'Charming', indeed!" the tailor beamed, leaping to his feet to study the figurine closer, "If she weren't wearing the royal family's sigil, I'd figure her a _faerie queen_ , to have found you while you were casting spells," and then smirked wider to his brother-in-law's glowering grin, "And if she weren't the _only_ vixen huntsmaid. That Judith is quite the tracker to follow you so deep into the forest. I know _I've_ tried."

"Chortle _all_ you like, Nicholas," boasted Gideon, "It was _fate_ which lead her to me, I'm sure of it, but tha's _not_ a topic for talk with young ears about. _I_ think your son would rather hear about _this_ beauty," he said, and still holding the bow through the cloth, he unraveled the rune-etched arch of unstrung wood, the subtle grooves of which shimmered in the reflective magical glow of the ever-burning log. Indeed, the young kit was struck with wondrous awe, a sound which made the older foxes beam. "Well now, I hope you brought the bowstring? Doesn't do much good without it, ya'know."

" _O'course_ I brought it," chuffed Nicholas, and pulled out a faintly glistening length of twine from a pouch at his belt, "or else all the time _we_ spent on it this morning was for _naught_."

"Is that _so_?" said the woodcarver, and grinned at the affirming nods of his nephew, "Well, if you _both_ made the bowstring, then you _both_ must string the bow; _tha's_ how the magic works."

"A'ight, laddy, with Da now," said the tailor, pooling the bowstring into his son's eager paws before gripping the runed bow, and kneeling to carefully, slowly bend it into an arch, "Do it jus' like I taught ya', tie it in a loop - aye, jus' like that - and get it around this point here," he instructed, "And now tie the other end… no, a _little_ longer than _that_ , son… _there_ , good, good, and now we jus' let the string go taut, _and_ …" The runes glowed softly as father and son held the new bow, glinting off the kit's wide eyes, "Nothing simpler. A'ight, you keep an eye on that while Da haggles with Uncle Gideon."

"' _Haggle_ ' he says," came a smirking scoff, "as it so happens, I've _already_ something in mind you could do for me," and standing upright from the table he leaned on, the woodcarver presented his torn, bloodied shirt, "Knowing _you_ , you can do something about all _this_ ," he said hopefully, and willingly handed over the tattered garb.

Nicholas held the shoulders of the shirt and spared a glance to either side with a half-hearted flip, and without even bothering to waste another second on it he tossed the whole thing onto the everburning-log, whereupon it burst into a momentary flare and settled almost instantly. At Gideon's dismayed gasp and surprised clutches, the tailor spoke swiftly and jovially, "There, and I won't even charge ye for the service."

" _Ach_ , that was my _only_ shirt!" he groaned with a slump of his bare shoulders.

"Tha's why you need a _new_ one, in fact, a new _two_ shirts," he grinned, and provided a gentle, backhanded tap of his brother-in-law's prominent physique, "Which will actually _fit_ you. They'll be both payment _and_ necessity, since I can't very well have my _own kin_ walking around unclothed; it's unsightly and _unprofessional_. Jus' come by the shop tonight, we'll have you measured up and _properly_ attired before too long," and clapped at the huffing fox's shoulder with a laugh.

"Well, _alright_ , if you insist," Gideon relented in a smile, reaching about for a firm smack of the tailor's mid-back.

"I rather _do_ , and don't be late," Nicholas said weakly, but good-naturedly, and turned towards the door with a beckoning swat at the air, "C'mon, lad, still _lots_ to do before your mother skins me alive for letting you shoot that bow," and in quick answer to the surprised gasp, "We'll need to pick up some arrows from the fletcher, first…" and away they went.

Sitting himself back at his workbench, Gideon couldn't help but smile at the prospect of getting _two_ new shirts. Nicholas always looked out for him, and he wondered he hadn't asked for a better shirt before now; but he was never the type to reach out for something like that, always preferred to get things done on his own, even if it seemed too much for him at the time. With Judith's figurine complete, Gideon set to work on the next one, but rather than carve out the Queen's knight or rook to go with the royal family chess set, he decided to make one of Nicholas (even including the new bow he etched for him); after all, he was getting _two_ shirts for the price of one, and he knew the tailor wouldn't accept a compensating payment.

As the afternoon continued and the sun traveled its arch to the western edge, the shop was closed up and Gideon required one more run to the forest's depths for a final commission of the day: a small, snakeskin leather harness with some bad spellwork. Sunrise was the best time for the inscribing of runes, while sunset was the _safest_ time to disenchant them, and since Gideon could get as far into the woods as he did, he was given the odd job of releasing the magic stored up inside. Anything closer to other houses would have strange effects, after all.

Grabbing up his satchel, the harness, as well as some jerked pheasant, carrots, sweet bread, and a small jug of cooled tea, Gideon went for the door but paused when he spotted his newest figurines standing on his workbench. A smile crept up as he grabbed them both, carefully stowing them in his bag to leave for the treeline and the fireflies swirling there…

* * *

Ever since anyone in the Grey household could recall, their son or brother was never one to sleep in, nor be stirred from established slumber; as he explained to anyone curious, "Once I'm down, I'm down, but once I'm up, I'm up." Ma often attributed this behavior to Pa's willingness to simply pick up a sleeping Giddy and move him as necessary, rather than disturb and instruct him appropriately (this activity got increasingly difficult with increased age of both father and son, in which case cold water was implemented to satisfactory effect). Essy often took advantage of her brother's log-like sleep to play pranks common amongst young fox siblings with increasingly elaborate set-up. The availability of easy-to-use winding cameras (before camera-phones were readily available in Bunnyburrow, much less Preds' Corner) provided Essy an outlet for her excess energy and creativity in the form of a challenge to assemble compromising situations, capture it on film, and then disassemble everything before either Giddy or her parents were any the wiser.

During his teenaged years, after pred-therapy, Gideon was haunted by vague nightmares of his experience, frequently waking up in the dead of night (what some might refer to as "the witching hour") to his own screams muffled behind painfully clenching jaws, even going so far as to smother any noise into the pillow so that nothing would appear amiss to his parents and sister (Essy's pranks, though playful, came to a quick and decisive end when everyone eventually found out what she was doing at night while the rest of the family slept, which was long before Gideon went to pred-therapy). Before Ruth set her kit along the path of the pastry chef, and so provided him with a plethora of family recipes to distract him, Gideon would remain as quiet as possible in his room after each waking, trying to decide if he should be grateful that going back to sleep was not something that ever really happened for him (more often than not, reading comic books by moonlight when introspection grew tiresome). Into adulthood, those dark hours were better spent reviewing and mentally improving known recipes, and when he finally lived on his own, he found he could get so much more accomplished without fear of waking anyone else up, or perhaps going for a pre-dawn walk in the woods behind the lot of his bakery.

This morning was not like those long witching hours, though. _This_ morning was a morning Gideon had not known since he was a kit, when the world was bright and full of new promise for adventure, and so he yawned such a yawn that it was like an applause for it all. It did, coincidentally, dawn on him that he fell asleep belly-down with his arms limp on either side; surprisingly, there was no pillow wrenched in his clutches, and he was without a shirt (even if a sheet was laid over his back and tucked in around his neck). Most surprising of all was that he awoke fresh and new without a single worry or fret. He swung his legs about and sat up in bed to await the onslaught of nocturnal fragments, but all he felt was an easiness that, maybe, he could learn to like.

A quick swivel of his ears told him he was likely the first one awake, which he was used to. A quick shuffle of his legs told him that he fell asleep in denim, which he was also used to and usually put him off but today it didn't, it merely evoked a quiet laugh. Ahh… laughter. A simple, solitary chuckle for no other reason than an idea tickled his funny bone. He didn't laugh to hide his anxiety, or even more recently, because of a funny joke someone _else_ said. He laughed simply to laugh, and it felt as good as breathing in fresh air. So, he laughed again, and again and again and again, unsure whether it was so funny that he used jeans as pajamas, but Gideon just couldn't help himself, even bending over to grip his knees in hearty guffaws. Goodness, he sure had a _lot_ of laughter to catch up on, and no better day than today, so sunny a day as it surely _must_ be.

When the jollies were out of his system, ready to make all _new_ ones for the _next_ bout of merrymaking, Gideon grabbed some overalls from his closet (for his parents had a habit of keeping clothes for him when he visited - same for Esther, of course - and visits were expected on a semi-regular basis), and by his own habit reached for the two nearest shirts… yet did not grab them. With another hearty chuckle, he let the shirts hang in his closet and turned away, shutting the door with a swish of his tail as he decided to wear _only_ a pair of overalls (at least until the pie-eating contest at the TBR, which wouldn't be for some hours still). "Won't _they_ be surprised!" he said with renewed jolliness.

Sauntering down the hallway, Gideon went up on tiptoes to sneak past his sister's room since she was always something of a light sleeper, even if she _did_ sleep in at every opportunity (there were times when she berated him for "turning the pages too loudly" if he read comic books in the same room she napped). For all her neatness and uncut corners when it came to work and work-like environments, Essy's personal life bordered on the haphazard, sometimes "forgetting" to pick up after herself (occasionally earning a swift, correctional throat-clearing from Ma, and to Gideon's own amusement, without the need to even _see_ whatever the young vixen neglected in her well-known tunnel vision), which lead to the expectation of scattered clothes on the bathroom floor adequately denied when Gideon witnessed its tidied state.

There sat the wooden tub, harkening to the yesteryears before porcelain, but its water-tightness was inarguable. Perhaps it was because Goliath Grey, who was big for a fox and small for a wolf in an unhappy medium between sizes, required more custom options for his comfort; perhaps it was also because he - as his mate attested - was tightfisted, opting to craft or reuse anything he'd need rather than spend money. Around the wooden tub was a bewilderingly clean floor. Gideon invested little more than a cursory glance at the aligned shampoo and soaps on the tub-adjacent shelves, the discarded clothes in a wicker basket hamper, and the severe lack of anything even _resembling_ standing water.

"Odd…" remarked Gideon, but then grinned and thumped the heel of his palm against his forehead, " _Duh!_ Jude was in here and prob'ly cleaned everything up. I was wondering what took 'em so long…" and chuckled again. Laying his overalls in an empty shelf (no doubt provided for such a thing as a change of clothes for the bather), Gideon caught a glimpse of the faint sheen from the bathroom mirror, and then froze in place. He'd long since accepted the horrid scars riddling his flesh, seeing them every morning in his reflection even though they never _actually_ showed through his fur. His fingers twiddled and then kneaded his knuckles, twiddled and kneaded, twiddled and kneaded… Would they still be there?

Nostrils flared and brow furrowed, shoulders squaring as he leaned forward and marched to the mirror, standing in front of the sink with his jaw set and glaring… at the back of his eyelids. Peeking through a crack in his vision, Gideon gradually looked upon his own face, chest, and belly, inhaling to exhale to inhale again until his breath, indeed, normalized. Yes, "normal", that's how he looked. For a long minute, he studied his features and it all looked… normal (although, perhaps a bit bulkier than a fox _should_ be, by the standard of most mammals, a nimble physique which Nick idealized; he had Pa's genes to thank for that, as well as his own affinity for good food). Of course, _that_ was the easy part, since he'd long ago realized that the scars on his face and arms were not _as_ visible as he thought they were; the _hard_ part loomed over - perhaps more accurately - _behind_ him.

His paw trembled as he reached for the hand mirror sitting on the sink, a common trinket for every household bathroom (as well as every respectable hotel) that allowed a mammal to check the state of the fur on their back, and it was down his back which Gideon felt a cold splash of dread as he exchanged a determined, yet scared, grimace with his reflection. Swallowing the lump in his throat, the baker turned about so to fully face away from the mirror and breathe deep with closed eyes, holding his lungful of air, and then releasing it in a leaden sigh. It'd been too long since he ever looked at his own back - _really_ looked at it - and doing so with the hand mirror was awkward as every red flag waved in his mind.

"There's still a chance to go back," said one flag.

"There's no need to check," said another.

Gideon knew, however, that all the help and love of his friends and family would be for naught if he only ever _pretended_ it was okay. He had to know for certain if the scars were visible. He had to know for _himself_. Peeking the mirror over his shoulder to reflect what the larger one saw, he unclenched his eyes to glimpse, once and for all, at what kept him anchored in trepidation. First he observed the fur of his lower back, right above the waistline of his jeans and the base of his tail. "Nothin' there," he confirmed, and held his jaw tight as he aligned and angled his perception until the entirety of his torso was in view, from the back of his skull to the breadth of his shoulders, down the rounded sides and ending at his denim-clad haunches. His tail swished. His ears flicked. He studied it all for some long minutes, wondering if he could believe what he saw… or _didn't_ see.

"Essy was _right_ ," Gideon admittedly quietly, a choking chuckle falling from his quivering, grinning mouth, " _Nick_ was right. They were _both_ right!" He craned his neck to look over his shoulder and down his back to get the best view he could, "They ain't visible! Not even a little!" and laughed in victorious revelation. All he saw was that, indeed, the fur on his back was in _desperate_ need of grooming, which considering he didn't let anyone see it for over half his life, was certainly understandable. Twirling about - almost throwing the hand mirror in the process - Gideon grinned wide and proud, fangs bared and dark lips pulled back for the happiest smile he'd given in _ages_.

It would surely, _undeniably_ , be a great day.

After nearly an hour of painstaking self-grooming (following the shower), Gideon was satisfied with the state of his fur, even running his fingers through what he could reach to make sure that even in the shorter state, the scars were not visible under his pelt. To his great relief and delight, they were not. Every snip of unkempt fur that fell away felt like pulling off a scab or peeling off a bandage kept too long on. There were the moments, though few and far between, that he succumbed to the memory of sixteen years in mortal terror of his darkest secret coming to light, but each time he did he heard Nick's assurance from Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, that he had nothing to be scared of. "You got my back, Stretch," Gideon said to his reflection, and brushed off the remaining snips of brick-red fur (and swept up his mess, of course). Taking one last look in the mirror, he made to push his bangs behind his ears, as they often sat, but decided to, instead, bring them forward and let them fall around his eyes, like how Pa and Essy wore theirs (even if _his_ were notably, substantially shorter). This elicited another simple chuckle before pulling on his overalls.

With a quick stop in his room to grab his phone, Gideon trekked out into the kitchen, a broad expectant grin on his face diminishing to a patient smirk, "Guess I'm still the only one up," he observed. Spotting a general disarray of whatnots on the table, including emptied cans of soda or cups of tea, and some of Essy's smaller legal effects, he scratched behind his neck with a thoughtful grunt to conclude what his sister's briefcase cemented for him, "They must've been up all night, or somethin'," and glanced down the hall at the quiet slumberers, " _Well_ into the witchin' hours." He clapped and rubbed paws with a grin, "I think you all deserve some crepes."

He cleared the table and mixed the dough, readied a skillet and scavenged the fridge for garden-fresh ingredients. "Lots of fruit for Nick… veggies for Judy… and I'm sure Essy wouldn't mind some scrambled eggs in hers," he beamed. Each one wrapped and sat on a warmer of the stove's back burner, available for whenever they decided to wake up. Gideon glanced over his shoulder with frequency, ears flicking at every little sound hinting their appearance, yet their persisting absence touched a nerve, "Must've stayed up 'til _dawn_ ," he grumbled, but dropped the momentary resentment to, instead, put on the kettle.

As Ma before him, Gideon noisily set out the plates around the table before digging into his own peach, turkey bacon, and hazelnut spread crepe with the full intention to let the smell of good, warm food attract the others to their prepared meal; but as each remained untouched while his own left only crumbs, he couldn't help but wonder what could be keeping them. Dejected (if only for a moment, since there was still plenty of day left), Gideon did as his Ma taught him and wrapped up the now room temperature breakfasts for cold storage.

Harrumphing, Gideon glared down the hall, "Okay, no more Mr. Nice Fox," he determined and marched past the empty couch to the bedrooms, "I like to think myself a patient mammal, but if you can't even pull yourself out of bed, late morning as it is…" Yanking open his sister's door, he harshly announced himself, "A'ight, lazy bones, get yerself-" and though expecting a flailing and irate vixen, was met with not only quiet but stillness; as in, her bed was still made. Which meant she didn't sleep in it. A dark weight swung from Gideon's heart but he dismissed it. "You prob'ly expect to jump out and give me a scare," he scowled around the room, and then closed the door.

Next, he trod down to his parents' room, figuring that if neither Judy nor Nick slept on the couch or Pa's sizeable armchair, then one of them partook the master bed, however, it was plain to see that its sheets and pillows were also undisturbed. "Guys?" he called out into the hall after closing the door as that dark weight vied for prominence in his sunny disposition. Gideon sat at the kitchen table with cheeks in his palms, and considered some possible scenarios.

"My van's still here…" he noticed, "Did they walk into town for breakfast? But there's no way Judy would let those soda cans sit on the table all night, and Nick wouldn't go that far for food knowing _I'm_ still here. Essy-" He jumped when the house phone derailed his train of thought, chair scraping on the floor as he made to stand but halted when he noticed the stillness of his _own_ phone. "They all have my number… why would they call the house?" he wondered aloud, and then decided to let the answering machine take it, "Must be one of Pa's clients… except they should all know he and Ma are out on that cruise, shouldn't they…?" When the ringing ended, the voices of Goliath and Ruth instructed to leave a message, he in a fairly straight forward manner and she in a more cordial tone; so, the tape set to record.

"Hey Gunky," said a voice Gideon never heard before, "pick up."

Gideon addressed the machine with a prompt raspberry.

"Real mature," the voice continued, to which the fox flinched, "And you handle _food_ , you could at least groom yourself, for crying out loud." He spun about, looking up at the ceiling as though to find a camera nestled in one of its corners that he somehow missed, but none was there, "Yeah, _you_ , you backwater hick. Now let's try this again, but _this time_ you pick up." _Click._ Blue eyes stared and chest heaved, dry throat gulping to process this new information in the resulting quiet, while also recalling a _delightful_ recipe for prickly-pear turnover. The phone rang.

The phone rang.

The phone rang.

The phone rang.

The phone ra-

"H-hello?" answered Gideon, catching his breath after a mad dash.

"That wasn't so hard, was it," said the voice.

"Wh-who is this?"

"It doesn't matter…" but he paused, "Ya'know what, call me 'Graves'."

"…'Graves'?"

"As in, what'll happen to your friends if you're not 'silent as the'," and in the absence of any response, "Nod if you got all that."

Gideon snapped shut his gawking mouth and nodded immediately, leaning towards the adjacent window to sweep the empty lawn, but found only the gentle downward slope towards the fence, and the expanse that led to the neighboring farms, and then Preds' Corner, and then Bunnyburrow proper off in the distance, and finally the gem of Zootopia itself, tucked away beneath the slight rise of the horizon.

"Alright-"

"H-how do I even know that you _have_ my friends?" Gideon suddenly said, a swell of courage alighting in his chest. He's seen stuff like this in the movies and on television, after all, and knew that, _If they're bluffing, then they have nothing on me_.

"…You want some kind of proof, then?" said Graves, "Sure, I can swing that. But first, I need to ask you something. Do you know how easy it is to pop off someone's toe with a pair of pruning shears?" and when the fox quietly yelped his answer, "Any hardware store, get one of those long-handled ones, gives you all the _leverage_ and _pressure_ you need to get the job done. So you know what, I'll send you one of your sister's toes-"

"No!"

"They're, umm… what is this, sparkly and purple? Yeah, I'll send you one of her purple toes-"

"No, _please_ , don't!"

"-with the phone right up to her mouth, so you can hear her when I-"

" _No_!" pled Gideon, falling to his knees and gripping the table where the phone's cradle sat, "Don't hurt her! Please…!"

"I dunno, Gunky, I've got my doubts that you really appreciate the gravity of the situation."

The fox choked, still squatting as he gripped the receiver with white knuckles, "What do you _want_ from me?"

"Well… okay, how about this. Take out the tape from the answering machine," instructed Graves.

Standing, shaking, Gideon sniffed and did as he was told, examining the cassette in his palm, "Okay… now what?"

"Hold it up… no, not like you're showing it, you dumb fox, like you're giving it to someone."

His brow furrowed to maneuver the card-sized piece of plastic between his index and thumb, turning it over once and glancing through the window again with expectation, and then back to the cassette. The glass pane was punched through with a single bullet hole as the plastic pinched in his grip exploded. Gideon dropped the receiver in a yell, falling back and gasping repeatedly (mind reeling with no less than three simultaneous recipes).

"You still there, Gunky?" asked Graves.

The fox kept low, only daring to glimpse over the top of the table at the punctured and cracked window, pupils narrowing and body trembling when he saw the fine hole.

"C'mon, don't tell me you passed out."

"I-I'm here, I'm still here!" he confirmed, grabbing up the phone and cradling it to his head.

"Do you understand, now?"

"Y-yes!"

"Good, good. You know, I'm glad. Do you want to know why I'm glad? Ask me why I'm glad," and after a full beat, "Go on, ask me."

"Wh-… why are you glad?"

"Blood is such a pain to clean up, and a severed toe sprays a lot of it, you know? But you're a 'sly fox', Gunky, so you're taking the easy way out, and I'm glad for that. And I'm sure your sister's glad for that, too, considering how much she probably paid to get these toes painted."

Gideon clenched his jaw and held the receiver against his shoulder with a few steadying breaths. _He's right about one thing,_ he thought, recalling not only what Nick told him at the hospital regarding his potential for cleverness, but also what _he_ told Nick only a few hours ago, which let him better "appreciate the gravity of the situation", _I'm a sly fox, alright._ "Graves, you're, umm, you're from the darknet, ain't ya'?"

There was a long, pregnant pause, and though Gideon's ears were no rabbit's they were still keen in their own right, and he almost heard a hushed conversation on the other end. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Shifting about into a comfortable squatting position, he licked his dry lips and continued, _And there's only one reason why the darknet wants anything to do with me_ , "This is… this is about the whipped cream, ain't it? The stuff that's _locked up_ in the sheriff's office, right?" He felt a triumphant grin cross his face.

"…Check your fridge, bottom left drawer, in the back."

Gideon's blood turned to ice.

"Go on. Check."

Gideon turned his head towards the kitchen.

"Sometime today."

The fox shakily stood and with the wireless receiver approached the now ominous cooling unit, its steady hum louder than ever before. The door cracked open, and though Gideon was just in there scrounging about, he hadn't checked the bottom left drawer… not _thoroughly_ , anyway. So, he knelt and slid it fully open to find the familiar plasticware that he, Nick, and Judy worked so hard to get rid of, tucked in behind some asparagus and beets. He peeled off its lid and sniffed the contents, and impossibly so, the whipped cream laced with Night Howler was inside, ready for its inclusion in the pie-eating contest later that day.

"No, it _can't_ be. How-?"

"Abra cadabra. You know what that's for, Gunky, make sure it gets there."

"But there's not enough!" Gideon pled in a last ditch effort.

"Don't make this any harder for yourself than it already is, fox, because it could mean a lot of blood gushing out of your sister's foot, and that would just put a damper on my day, so do us all a favor and figure something out. Should be easy for a 'sly fox' like you." _Click._ The dial tone answered all of Gideon's panicked cries, before numbly ending the call to slump against the fridge door. He was, irrefutably, alone in that house.

When his body stopped shaking, Gideon stood so to set the plasticware on the counter and then return the phone to its cradle. His claws reached out and dragged along the cracks in the window, lightly prodding the bullet hole from which they originated. He couldn't think of any recipes amidst the mental haze, so he returned to the kitchen and studied the container wherein sat fluffy, white doom, and with it a monumental decision to make. If he put it on his pies, lots of bunnies could die, and with them he could _also_ die from the "death shriek", assuming he stretched out what little he had left of the drugged stuff to make it seem convincing. If he _didn't_ , he could lose Essy, Nick, and Judy...

"What do I _do_ …?" he asked, though to no one in particular. His paws balled into fists as he spoke louder, "What _can_ I do?" And then shouted with tears falling down his cheeks, "I can't do _anything_ without someone getting _hurt_!" Fear and desperation transgressed into anger, coursing through him like magma as he stormed off to the kitchen door leading outside, swinging it open with a clatter. He stared off at the woods beyond the lawn, and then glared down at a stone with a single crack artfully placed at the top, an old Chronicler symbol that sat right outside. He stooped to grab it, ripping it from the dirt in a fiery huff and marched over to the fence.

"I sang those songs, I told those tales," he growled, "Even with all the bad stuff I went through, I _never_ lost faith, did I?" He choked, picking up steam and hoisting the stone over his shoulder, "Where are You now! Where have You been!" he called out, charging through the tall, unkempt grass of the soccer field his father built in approach of the lawn's edge. Confusion and doubt wrung his heart fiercer with each step, the dark emotions he contained behind a facade of repression for so long now boiled beneath his pelt, no longer dreading reprisal for lashing out. After all, what more could be taken from him…

In a clumsy stumble, Gideon yelled and flailed as his foot struck a forgotten ball, sending it high through the air. The fox lost his footing at what he thought was (maybe) a large, black-and-white bird rocketing out of the grass, legs falling out from under him to land _hard_ on his tail, the stone dropping behind him with a dull thud. He tried to blink away the stars obscuring his vision as his head spun for a single instant.

The rubber sphere bounced off the fence and flew into the shady canopy of the mid-morning boughs, garnering Gideon's final glimpse of its departure. "Oh!" he gasped, scrambling to his feet to chase after the soccer ball, "I'm such a klutz," he berated himself, hoisting himself over the wooden barrier in chase. "Stupid, stupid," he continued in hushed mumbles, scanning the dim for where the black-and-white toy might've landed. It wasn't too long before he found it, deep into the woods as it strayed, and loosed a heavy huff to pick it up. It was then that he remembered his anger and spun the ball about in his palms, glancing awkwardly. His rage seemed foolish now, downright "stupid", wondering what he could've accomplished or proven by chucking that cracked stone into the woods.

The air on his fur, the smells in his nose, the sounds in his ears, the lights in his eyes; the woods always soothed when nothing else could, when no one else understood, so they always lingered in his memories and dreams. Not that he really dreamt much, not as much as he used to as a kit, but each time it always ended in a forest, back to that time he wandered off from his sister when he was maybe three-years-old, when he thought he saw that big, old lion right on the edge of their field; aside from seeing his Pa's eyes, it was one of his first, clearest memories. He was an old, weary, graying mammal, that lion, both in memory and dream, hunched over with ragged fur and a stringy mane, wearing a dark, smoky cloak that seemed way heavier than it should be. He was always in a glade with a huge, nasty pricker bush on one side, and a clear path on the other, and there were always fireflies, bright golden fireflies whisking about. Toddling around his feet would be a baby-kit with blue eyes - which Gideon always assumed was himself - whom the old lion watched dutifully, lovingly… sadly.

Gideon asked Ma what it all meant, and she said it was Aslan Himself, visiting him in a dream, except every depiction _he'd_ ever seen was of a large, strong, golden lion in the prime of life… not some decrepit ghost of a cat. Pa would say, "What you get out of that dream depends on what you put into it", or something to that effect, but Gideon never really "got" anything out of it, except that heaviness of a super-important decision which the fate of _everything ever_ teetered on, and typically made him uncomfortable to think about. Essy did some research on dream interpretation and said that he felt guilty for how he acted as a bully, but was afraid to make amends because he'd have to face up to what he did, except he had this dream _before_ he ever really started bullying, so… while he _did_ feel guilty about all those other kids he terrorized back in his youth, he didn't think that's what the dream meant. Regardless, every dream wound up the same with him meeting an old lion to face that weight of decision, but ending before he even figured out _how_ to decide.

Except for last night.

After perhaps his most favorite dream in years, he found himself in the forest with the pricker bushes and fireflies, like always, and the lion watching the baby-kit, like always; but _not_ like always, Gideon stooped down to pick up the kit, and just… held him. This time, he looked at the lion, right up into that patient, world-weary face that, for the first time, had sharp, regal eyes. In his dream, Gideon looked away to wonder if he should go down the clear path; after all, it seemed like the obvious choice, but even though the lion was old and weak, overpowering a fox with a kit would be _too_ easy… and if the purpose was to steal the kit into the pricker bush, there was no reason to wait for Gideon to find them. So, he wondered what the lion had to say without ever actually asking, something he just _felt_ , wondering why he _shouldn't_ go down the clearly easier path; and then that old mammal reached out and almost touched the fox, grabbing at the air right in front of his eyes as if to pull something like a spider web off his face.

Through the pricker bushes, though filled with long, horrible thorns, Gideon could see daylight beyond them. Down the clear path, however, he could see the dim shine pouring through the canopy darkening with menace. He looked at the kit he held (again, probably himself, or as Essy explained, "a representation of your innocence"), and then back to the lion, who looked ready to lay the thing he pulled off Gideon across an arm. So, instead, Gideon held the kit up to the lion in last night's dream, and earned a kindly, grandfatherly smile, like it was the first time anyone ever so much as spared a _second_ to offer up a greeting. The lion accepted the kit, dropping the "spider web" (for lack of a better term) to let it whisk down the clear path, and then stood upright, taller than a lion or even a giraffe had _any_ right to be, cradling the kit protectively before ducking into the pricker bush and out of sight.

Also completely new was a vixen in a festive, prismatic dress, looking _very_ similar to Essy except… while he wouldn't say _older_ , she certainly looked taller, as if she _were_ older than him. She smiled sweetly, proudly, and then the dream ended. (Gideon decided he would leave that last part out of _anything_ he'd tell to _anyone_ ; he knew what some had to say about female relations popping up in dreams, and he did _not_ think of Essy that way.) Now, he was only a simple pastry chef from Bunnyburrow, not some fancy head-doctor or learned theologian, but the best that Gideon could figure was he finally found his way out of that pricker bush (with a little help), and maybe he shouldn't so easily toss blame about where it wasn't needed.

On his way back, Gideon hummed a kithood hymn, remembering it better than the stories Ma told (or, at least _tried_ to tell; she was always better at singing than storytelling). It was no secret that a lot of foxes stayed away from Chronicler stuff, saying how it "glorified lions" and other "nobler" species. It didn't help that one of the central figures in that ancient story, a fox, _betrayed_ the very lion who taught the other mammals about love no matter their differences, laying down tenets that some philosophers said began the evolution of once primal animals into a unified, modern society (others disagreed, but _that_ was a debate for another time). Ma said that the fox was the most important and best part of the story as she learned it from Grampub, because the lion forgave the fox and so made him his greatest advocate, and it was the _fox_ that took those lessons to heart, "singing the songs" and "telling the tales" to whomever would listen (regrettably, some mammal communities left that part out in their own tellings). It gave him hope that _he_ could be forgiven for everything _he'd_ done.

Gideon left the woods and tossed the ball to the ground, kicking it back under the fence before hoisting himself over it to return where he dropped the cracked stone, which he retrieved in a moment of solemnity. If he remembered his lessons, it represented one of the Chroniclers' foundational principles: "Love will always give you the strength to do the right thing, even when it's the hardest thing you'll ever have to do". Carefully holding the stone to his chest, Gideon kept the ball along up the gentle slope, softly singing a single-line from a hymn that helped him everyday for the past sixteen years: "Give the strength for just one more step."

With a final kick, the soccer ball clattered against a piece of loose wood leaning on the side of the house. "Huh?" wondered Gideon, and put the cracked stone back into its place as he inspected the lid next to the rain barrel; he recalled the _many_ times Pa got on the case of whomever left it off after grabbing a drink or a quick wash, because that was _supposed_ to be clean (enough) water, and the lid kept bugs or dirt out. Odder still was the light coming from inside the rain barrel, and as Gideon peered in he spotted a cellphone sitting at the bottom. "Huh?" he twice wondered, but then remembered that he knew of one and _only_ one mammal with a waterproof phone, "Nick! You sly, crazy fox, you must've hid it for me to find!" and dumped out enough water to reach in and grab it.

"Sprinkles" read the caller ID, and with a frantic swipe of his thumb, Gideon put the still wet screen up to his ear and ducked, scanning the fenceline for anyone that might be watching as he ever-so-discreetly granted himself entry back into the house. Before he could answer, a bubbly, jovial voice nearly shrieked with palpable excitement, "Sly! Holy cow, I've been trying to get hold of you _all morning_ , okay, so last Friday you searched for that ram with the chip in his horn, well, I found out he's got _quite_ a rap sheet… Wait, are you hyperventilating, are you okay?"

"Uhh… hi, no, I'm fine, and umm… I'm Gideon Grey, Nick's cousin," he said quietly, closing the door behind him as stealthily as possible before hunkering behind the counter.

A shrill, delighted gasp came across the phone, "Shut the front door, that is the _craziest_!" The vibrance screeched to a halt at what sounded like an apologetic whisper, "Does, uhh, does that mean _you're_ a fox, too?"

"Y-yeah, it does; I _am_ a fox."

"Oh no, I'm _so_ sorry I called you 'sly' and 'crazy'!" he plead, awkward groaning abundant from the other side of the call, "What is _wrong_ with me, I should _know_ better!" he fretted in an especially sad kind of way.

"Hey, it's okay, really!" Gideon hastily comforted, somewhat unsure _how_ to handle someone feeling bad for stereotyping him, "Listen, umm… It's great to meet you, but Nick's only got your name as 'Sprinkles', so is that what I should call you…?"

A giggling snort was the next response, "Hah! Yeah, that's his _Nick_ name for me, ever since high school, I think it's because of my spots, being a cheetah and all, but he's always been really cool with me calling him 'Sly', so I guess I just kinda called him that, not knowing _you_ weren't _him_ … is he nearby? This is kinda important police business, I _really_ shouldn't be, ya'know, talking with a civilian about it, so just, uhh, forget anything I might've said concerning… _that_ , please-and-thank-you~" he punctuated in a singsong tone.

 _A cop!_ Gideon realized with such an overwhelming wave of relief, he felt he could kiss the screen. He gazed to the ceiling and the sky beyond in smiling gratitude, mouthing a prayerful "Thank you" and clutching the phone to his chest. _Okay, I have one shot at this, so I need to get the message that Nick and Judy're in trouble._ "He's… uhh… _out_ , must've forgot his phone, and it was ringing, so I thought I'd… _pass along a message_ , if ya' get me. By the way, I didn't catch your name, Officer…?"

"Oh, of course, double sorry. Officer Benjamin Clawhauser, I'm the dispatcher and friendly face of the ZPD, Precinct 1! You said your name was Gideon Gr-?" he asked, and then but somehow interrupting himself, "Wait, do you know an _Esther_ Grey? Is she your sister? She's a defense attorney that comes around every once in awhile, and is, like, _almost_ as big a Gazelle fan as me, but let's be honest here, right?" he laughed, "Wow, this is just too craz-… I mean… _cray-cray_. Am I allowed to say 'cray-cray'?"

"I… I don't know what 'cray-cray' _is_."

"It's short for 'crazy'," he explained, and it sounded like he also included air-quotes, "so I wasn't sure if I was allowed to say it."

"Oh… I guess that's fine, I mean, _I_ don't have a problem with it-"

"You know, I think I heard her and Judy mentioned something about a brother… what was it… Oh! Oh oh oh oh oh! Esther said you were a _baker_ , and she promised to bring something over the next time she came around!" and let out what sounded like a mewling squeal of barely contained rapture, "There's _nothing_ better than homemade sweets! Not to _brag_ , but I'm something of a pastry connoisseur; I even have my own blog about it. Oooh~ I can't _wait_ to try some of your goods!"

Gideon felt himself at a loss of how to convey any kind of message about his predicament. He was glad that he got hold of someone in the ZPD so amiable and who sounded like not only a close friend of Nick's, but of Essy and Judy, too, but by the same token this cheetah was just a bundle of lightning so getting a word in edgewise was something of a challenge. Pulling the phone from his ear, the screen lit up and the button for MuzzleTime reflected off the fox's eyes; it wasn't his favored way of communicating if only because the name made his pelt crawl, but maybe if Benny could see the worry on his face… Facial cues were something foxes used to communicate as much as words, after all. He slicked back his bangs and with a tap of his thumb, Gideon opted to include video, "Whoops! Sorry, Benny, clumsy fingers…" he claimed.

"Say wha-?" asked the cheetah, and to the fox's relief the request was accepted as the screen soon filled with the pillowy rolls of Benjamin Clawhauser's black-spotted, golden cheeks and neck, embracing the capriciously surprised face gazing back. "Oh no, I didn't mean to-! Chief Bogo gets mad when I take personal calls at the front desk," he worried, holding the mobile device low as he craned his neck and scanned, "Okay, coast is clear! Did you just hop out of the shower? And O. M. _Goodness_. You have, just, the _bluest_ eyes, don't you? I can definitely see how you're Esther's brother, you've even got her bangs! Is that, like, a farm fox thing, because I haven't seen that on _any_ other foxes?"

"Maybe?" Gideon sincerely wondered. As far as he knew, only he, Pa, and Essy had bangs when it came to foxes, at least in Preds' Corner. His brow furrowed and warm ears pinned back, as he glanced around again while inching towards the landline telephone and its adjacent window, his level of anxiety no less since the call began.

"What's wrong, you look spooked?" asked a hesitant cheetah, whose manner of speech finally managed to slow down.

Peeking around the counter, the fox crept low to the floor until he got to the table, and then held his cell phone at such an angle as to give the cheetah cop as clear a view of the bullet hole as possible. "I'm at my parents' house, in Preds' Corner," he whispered, "Err… 'The Brambles', I mean, just outside of Bunnyburrow proper. Nick, Judy, and Essy were staying here last night, but they up and vanished, spirited away by someone named 'Graves', and they're in all kinds of danger. You gotta send help!" and then clutched the phone to his chest as it heaved, for once again, the phone rang, and Gideon dared not let it go unanswered. He tried to steady his breath, brought back to reality by a thorough worrying from Officer Benjamin Clawhauser.

"Gideon, are you there?" the cheetah tried again.

Snapping from his daze, the fox looked into the screen of their video call, "Quick, mute your phone!"

"Wait-!"

"If I don't answer it, Graves'll hurt my sister! Mute your phone and listen in, or trace it! I'll answer the call, and you trace it, okay?"

"But I can't…"

" _Please_ , Benny, you're the only one who can help, and I can't do this on my own…"

The cheetah frowned, gulped, glanced about, and then nodded, "Okay, muting my ca-" he said, and though his lips moved, no words came.

Taking great care where he stood up, Gideon rose at the side of the table which he _knew_ was not visible from window, and set down the phone when it was apparent to him that no noise would come from it. Recognizing that the persisting dampness of his mitts wouldn't mix with the known lack of waterproofing of common house phones, he tried to pat them dry enough on his overalls that he could touch a button to answer the call.

"Took you long enough," said Graves, and paused a half-beat, "…Am I on speakerphone?"

"Oh, yeah, my paws are wet," responded Gideon and held them up in view of the window, trying with every fiber of his being to remain calm, "I just… washed up a bit, like you said."

"So you _do_ listen. If you're not busy, I have another question for you." And was quiet.

Gideon rocked from heel-to-toe as he waited.

"I guess you're not curious about the question."

The fox flinched and cleared his throat, "I-I'm free; sorry. What can I help you with?"

" _There_ we go. So, I was wondering, do you usually take your pet rock to kick a ball around when you're on something of a tight schedule?"

Gideon rubbed his arm, "Th-that was…"

"I figured I made myself clear about how urgent all this is, but maybe I didn't."

"But I… I _do_ understand, Mr. Graves…"

"Don't call me 'Mister'."

"S-sorry! I mean… _just_ Graves," said Gideon, paws gripping each other such that his claws gently dug into his pelt between the knuckles.

"More to the point, Gunky, you do _not_ understand, and I need to rectify that."

The fox whimpered in dismay as he hastily drew a target on the notebook kept near the phone and held it up, "Here, you can shoot this, like you did last time!"

"Gunky," he began with bored, waning patience, "I don't waste my breath or my bullets on repeating myself. Instead, I have someone here I know you'll listen to, and they'll repeat it as many times as it takes."

"No!" he screamed, paws slamming on the table around the phone as he leaned into it, "I'll get to it, I will, enough whipped cream for everyone, just don't hurt Essy!"

"…You know what, I think you finally understand…"

Gideon bowed his head, claws dragging across the tabletop with a choking cough, "Th-thank you…"

"...But I can't just let you waste time like that."

"Huh?" Across the phone came an efforted grunt, the collision of something heavy with something soft to evoke a startled, pained scream that Gideon was quite sure he could identify, "Nick!"

"Your sister only has six toes but I can hit Nick all day, and it's a lot less blood to clean up."

Again came the collision, "Ow!" the other fox barked, groaned and then added, "That was sarcastic, by the way, in case you didn't pick up on-" interrupted by another quick collision.

"Nick!" Gideon called again.

"Bangs?" came the surprised, staggering reply

"I'm so sorry, Nick, I didn't mean to-!"

"Okay, that's enough," said Graves, "You waste any more of the next few hours and Nick gets hit harder and his fur gets redder. Nod if you got all that."

A vigorous, whimpering nod was Gideon's sole reply.

 _Click._

He collapsed to his knees, fingers digging into his scalp as he shook. Confusion wracked the fox's brain amidst stacking concern, for not only was Nick in pain on _his_ account, but a part of him was relieved that it wasn't Essy's screams he heard. Gideon knew in his head that Nick would understand how he'd rather his cousin be bruised than his sister mutilated, but in his heart _either_ situation was horrific and he only had himself to blame for "wasting time". _Just one more step…_ he prayed, _but every step makes things worse…_

"Gideon," said a deep, authoritative voice from overhead.

The fox's ears pricked while looking about, a tremor traveled the length of his spine and tail as he spoke so softly he could hardly hear himself, "…Aslan…?"

"Mr. Grey, are you still there?" it asked, drawing attention to the nearby tabletop.

Ever-so-carefully, the fox reached up for his cousin's phone. "Who…?" Gideon wondered, unsure if it was a voice he recognized because it definitely wasn't Benny, and then he saw a stern, cobalt face in the phone's screen, and while he almost recalled the sturdy horns and dark nostrils, considering the fox's mental state it was simply easier to ask, "Who're you?"

"I'm Chief Bogo of the ZPD," he explained, slowly but succinctly, "Officer Clawhauser debriefed me on the situation, and the next few hours are _crucial_ to saving Wilde, Hopps, and Ms. Grey. Can we count on your cooperation?"

"I…" came a choke, and squatting until he was only a ball of fur and denim with its tail tucked in, "I don't know if I _can_ … I _thought_ I could, but no matter _what_ I do, someone gets hurt…" The phone shook as he gripped it with all his weakness, for to him it was less an admission of inability than a confession of guilt.

"Mr. Grey," he said patiently, " _Gideon_ , are you familiar with the ZPD's oath?" and as the fox watched the view drift down the Cape buffalo's chest, he soon saw the polished badge pinned on his uniform, "Trust. Bravery. Integrity. Both Judy and Nick have a badge _just_ like this, which means they not only practice these principles everyday they put it on, but they _rely_ on them from others."

"But…" sniffed Gideon, staring at the badge for a moment longer before Bogo's face filled the screen again, "I don't know how brave I _can_ be… and I can't even trust _myself_ …"

"Start with integrity, and the others will follow."

"'Integrity'? Why?"

"Because it means doing the right thing whether or not someone else is watching, especially when it goes against your best interests," explained Bogo, "Clawhauser tells me that you're close friends with Judy. Then you know that could not be the case unless you emulated those same values she upholds."

 _Y-yeah, tha's right…_ Gideon thought, and whether it was how his face broadcast every thought running through his head, it seemed that the chief of police read him like an open book, for he nodded with a confirming grunt.

"At this moment, 'Graves' needs to believe _he_ still holds the advantage, until Sheriff Longmare can locate and apprehend him. It sounds like he wants you to do something in the next few hours, which means we have _at least_ that long before he does anything drastic. What is it that you're supposed to do?"

Talking with someone of strength and authority calmed the fox's nerves enough to unfurl his tail and plop onto his seat. "There's some whipped cream filled with drugs that he wants me to put on the pies for a pie-eating contest today," he said numbly, and continued breathing as the buffalo's head canted and brow knitted in unamused bewilderment. Gideon continued at a gradually increasing tempo, "Rachel wrote up the report, so she can explain ev'rything when you call her, because we - Judy, Nick, and me - turned in that whipped cream as evidence, but somehow Graves got hold of it again." And then he seemed to calm as the harrowing event from late Sunday afternoon came back to him, a realization crossing over his eyes recalling when his cousin explained afterwards how he and his partner turned the tables in a hopeless situation, and it was all thanks to Gideon's unknowing cooperation, "Wait, so I jus' need to keep Graves thinkin' he's in charge long enough for you and Rachel to catch him?" He then added to himself, _Or long enough for Judy and Nick to do their thing!_

Chief Bogo grunted in doubt, leaning in to study the phone's screen, "Yes, it's important that Graves suspects nothing while Sheriff Longmare tracks him down, but I advise against doing anything crazy, Mr. Grey; _strongly_ advise against it."

Gideon reeled, very much taken aback as his eyes darted about in a chuckle, "What? Why would I do anything like that?" he denied, although now that he wasn't wallowing in self-pity anymore…

"Because you've got that _look_ in your eyes, same as Wilde," the buffalo passively accused.

"Give him the 'I don't care that you're a fox' speech!" called an unseen Benny.

"I'm not giving him the 'fox speech'!" Bogo called back.

The fox's tail swished. Nick's cries of pain were fresh in his mind, but by the same token, he managed to slip in some snark before Graves cut him off, _So he can't be that bad off…_ Gideon considered, and hearing about Bogo and this "fox speech", well… got him thinkin'… "Hey, Chief Bogo?" he asked, and earned a glare from the buffalo as his attention returned to the phone (even through the screen, the hot huff from his nostrils was almost tangible), "D'you… _know_ who this Graves is?"

Bogo grunted disapprovingly, eyes narrowing.

"Couldn't hurt if I knew too, could it?" the fox suggested, admittedly, feeling quite daring on the other side of that long-distance call.

He began after a pause, and with all due severity, "He's the city's deadliest sniper, and with the geography of The Brambles, the only one who could make that shot into your window. Known only as the ' _Grave_ digger', our best detectives pieced together his MO after several 'suspicious accidents', wherein the bullet did _not_ kill the victim, rather put them into a situation which their surroundings _could_ ; he digs the grave, and his target falls right in. His victimology suggests that he is a hired gun and assassin; seemingly random individuals whose only connection is a target on their backs.

"'Graves' is meticulous, patient, and ruthless, and so far that phone call - unclear though it is - serves as the _only_ evidence we have on him to date, aside from a blurry photo of him tipping his hat to the camera. All we know is that he is a canine species, whether wolf, coyote, or some other, we cannot say for certain. We thought he was involved in the pred-scare since it fit his technique _perfectly_ , except _that_ sniper was a ram, a copycat killer that hasn't since shown his face," he explained, punctuated with the hint of a frustrated, threatening low.

Gideon frowned such a frown that his dark lips might very well have dangled beneath his chin.

"Can we count on you, Mr. Grey?" Bogo asked again.

"Y-yes!" the fox aptly replied, "I'll… I'll do my best."

"I know it's a lot to ask of a private citizen."

Gideon grunted and shrugged, his tail swishing nervously, "I jus' want my family back."

"We'll get them back," the buffalo assured.

Managing to smile, he responded, "Ya'know, you ain't _half_ so mean as I been led to believe."

Bogo's glower did not let up, but maybe tightened a bit more before fully relaxing into a casual smile, "Thank you, I appreciate that." _Click._

Gideon turned off the phone and stashed it into his overalls' front pocket, with a long, heavy sigh. With his paws to his knees, he stood himself up and stretched out before departing the window. Graves would see nothing more than his back, the fox knew, and that's how it was going to be until he got something on that could better hide Nick's cellphone. Returning to his room, Gideon ditched his damp overalls for a clean pair of jeans, an undershirt, and a button-up of mainly neutral colors. "It's time to whip some cream," he said as he rolled up his sleeves, and gave his arms a few bending flexes to warm them up as he headed into the kitchen with a sly grin, "And maybe do something a… _little_ bit crazy."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

It seemed different this go-around, making the whipped cream. The first batch (before he knew about the essence of a toxic flower lurking inside) thrilled Gideon in that subtle kind of way, like opening a new jar of peanut butter; a certain mundane reverence for the untouched, both common and unique. Currently, Gideon only felt a chill clinging to his bones; a certain mundane revulsion similar to the idea that spiders were hiding in every dark, narrow crevice. It wasn't going to stop him, of course, the extra whipped cream was getting made and mixing it in with the deadly stuff was happening whether he liked it or not, and an assassin with a long-ranged rifle was making sure he obeyed. To his advantage, though, there were no direct windows into the kitchen on the same wall as the one that Graves shot through, so he had something of a blind spot to work in, _But I can't stay in it too long or else he'll get suspicious. Gotta look busy for the cameras_ , thought Gideon.

With a deadline of only a few hours and no desire to tire himself out for the sake of a dastardly deed, the pastry chef took out a mixer for its whipping utility. _What have I got to work with in here…_ he pondered, already acquainted with the fridge's contents, he perused the pantry instead to figure the extent of his options. _Condensed milk… tha's good, that'll work,_ and pulled out a few cans of the almond-based cream, _Vanilla extract, of course… Now I need a base of some kind. I used sunflower seed oil before and last time, like Bo said._ And then remembered in a flash what Bo did to the previous batch of whipped cream on Saturday afternoon, and his own theory on what happened to Nick on Friday night, about how he thought his whipped cream had gone bad. _Bo swallowed a wad the size of his fist but then upchucked it, 'iron stomach' or not. If I make my whipped cream with bad ingredients, those bunnies won't be able to keep it down. They'll be saved! And Graves'll see I did what he asked, and who's the say that the Night Howler drug doesn't just make bunnies sick anyway? Nick said it was s'posed to be a 'drug test', so it's not like there's a set outcome, right?_

The fox beamed as that crazy thought itching at the edge of his mind came to light, and reached further back into the pantry to pull out a bottle of sesame seed oil to check its expiration date. _This stuff went bad over a year ago,_ he grinned, _It'll cause all kinds of upset tummies, and then those poor bunnies will get sick but it's better than screaming to death, and pretty soon, all this will just be a bad memory. Judy, Nick, and Essy will go back to the city, and I'll go back to my… my bakery…_ Another cold dread washed down his back, _Which… no one will want to go to after a whole bunch of bunnies get sick eating my pies at the TBR._ _What if everyone thinks it's some kind of nasty prank? I'll have to close it down, heck, I'll be lucky if I'm not run out of town on a rail._ He agreed to host the pie-eating contest for the publicity, after all; it was meant to bring in customers, not drive them away _. And then there's Mr. and Mrs. H… they put their necks out going into business with me… It was pullin' teeth just to keep the torches and pitchforks at bay, buildin' up trust, but I don't have_ nearly _enough brownie points to let something like this slide… if I have any at all, things considered…_

 _I'll save everyone else, though,_ he numbly rationalized, gripping the bottle of sesame seed oil tighter, _I could… I could make up some big thing that I really_ am _just a jerk, that way Mr. and Mrs. H could throw me under bus without an ounce of guilt. All of Preds' Corner could say 'We're not like_ that _', even make an example of me; things have been quieter since the pred-scare ended, so I'll be seen as a lone fox. I'd… I'd be betraying everyone I ever knew that believed in me… but they'd be alive. So… maybe I can live with that. I won't even move back in with Ma and Pa_ , he thought, _I'll spare them the shame… I can take my trade elsewhere, maybe even go to the Knottedwood, I don't think they get much in the way of news, so they won't know what I did. After all, I got family there, too, prob'ly lots of cousins, and a few aunts and uncles, and Grampub._

 _Grampub…_

Gideon stood, still holding the bottle of expired cooking oil, not daring to leave the kitchen but instead gazing across the counter, dining table, and living room. On the opposite wall was a framed portrait of his mother's side of the family when she was little more than a toddler, the youngest of a litter of six, with two brothers and three sisters (one of whom was no doubt Aunt Jackie), and of course, Piberius Savage himself, standing tall beside the eldest son on his right side, and his mate Clawdia (or as Gideon knew her, 'Granna', rest her soul) on the left. Ma sang much better than she told stories, so all the tales of Admiral Savage and his voyage on the seas as part of the Royal Navy were overshadowed by the research that Essy did on their grandfather, "The notorious pirate, _Captain_ Piberius Savage". Gideon found it hard to believe _those_ stories, though, because he was always depicted missing his right eye and paw, yet in the portrait he had both. Instead, he often imagined that Grampub was like the Mr. Foxglove of yesteryear before he retired, even if one commanded a loyal crew and the other was a super-spy. It let him think there was some of that heroism in _his_ blood, too.

"You mistaken me for someone heroic," Mr. Foxglove often said, suavely so, and usually in good humor. He went in, got the job done, saved everyone he _could_ save, but though he often put his life on the line to save just one more mammal, he denied ever being a "hero". _Well, I ain't a hero, either, I guess,_ lamented Gideon, _I'm jus' a country bumpkin that, for some reason, has lives dependin' on him._ He stared dully at the bottle he held… and with a flick of his thumb popped the cap of the expired sesame seed oil and leaned his head back to drip some onto his tongue for a taste, if just to figure out how bad a plan it was to mix it in with the whipped cream. It was all he could do to spit it out in the sink, rather than anywhere else along the route of his mad dash.

Gagging, Gideon washed it out as best he could, but the rancidness persisted through the vehement gurgling. The nearest source of sweetness the fox saw was a jar of honey from the Knottedwood (sporting a label cleverly depicted by a tree trunk tied in a knot) that Ma got delivered every now and then, and which he had out for morning tea but currently scooped out a dollop of to smear over his tongue. Holding the spoon in his mouth grumpily, Gideon examined the jar and remembered how he couldn't stand the stuff before he had fox-flu, but had since learned to enjoy it, and as he lapped the silverware between his jaws idly. He then glanced to the pantry's ajar door and remembered seeing _something_ in there that, crazy as it sounded, might just be able to help him avoid a no-win scenario…

It was about noon by the time he finished, sitting nervously next to the telephone with a stack of differently stylized plasticwares, each filled with Night Howler-laced whipped cream. Only after several, arduous minutes did the phone ring, and even though he was expecting it Gideon about jumped out of his fur and scrambled to pick up.

"H-Hello!"

"Gunky."

"Graves, I did what you asked, lots of whipped cream for today," he said, and clapped the top lid of the stack a smidgen louder than he intended.

"Doesn't look like a lot."

"It is, I was thinking about it, and what I'll do is go back to my bakery, get all the fresh whipped cream, but the first pies that everyone'll eat will have _this_ stuff on it. Okay?"

"Hmm…"

Shifting about in his seat, the fox continued, "It'll all look _exactly_ the same, and I'll make sure that _these_ pies are served first."

"How diluted is it?"

"'How… diluted'?"

"By what ratio did you mix it, Gunky?"

He grunted in thought and held the phone to his shoulder, counting the containers and then his fingers, "I'd say it's about… one-to-four, give or take?"

"Gunky…"

The fur went up from between Gideon's ears down to the tip of his tail.

"You dumb, _dumb_ fox. You diluted it too much."

"No, I didn't, I really didn't!"

"I guess that's it, then, isn't it."

"Wait, Graves!"

"Expect to see your sister's foot by the end of the day."

"No, listen, please!"

"You'll get the rest of her as the week progresses."

"It'll still work!"

"…"

"It'll…" he choked, "It's still strong enough to work."

"Why should I believe a fox, especially one as desperate as you?"

"Because I saw what happened!" Gideon almost yelled, "A bunny had a little taste, a tiny bit, and she… she almost _died_. Dropped as soon as she swallowed, out like a light, and it wasn't an hour, maybe _half_ -an-hour before she started shakin' and gaspin', like she was possessed, or somethin'. The bunnies at this contest, they'll be eating pies _covered_ in the stuff, so they'll have plenty of it."

"…"

"G-Graves?"

"Which bunny?"

"'Which…'?"

"You said 'a bunny', so who is 'she'?" asked Graves.

"I… I don't…" worried Gideon.

"Will I have to repeat myself, Gunky? You know I hate repeating myself."

Only just managing to clap his paw over the mouthpiece of the phone, the fox whined a quiet apology, _I'm so sorry, Judy!_ and then swallowed the lump in his throat before answering, "It was Judy, Judy Hopps."

"…No kidding."

"Yeah…" he lamented, feeling like he just handed her over for execution.

"And she seized up, huh?"

"Y-Yeah, I think that's the word for it. Why?"

"Did she do anything else?"

"I… I dunno…"

"Think, fox," insisted Graves, "What did she do after seizing?"

"I don't know!" he _did_ yell, about ready to seize up himself, "I dunno, she kinda… wheezed and stuff, went cold like she was dead…" Stayed by his own terror of the idea, Gideon couldn't bring himself to explain how she nearly screamed and so sealed the fates of not only him and Nick, but of the nurse, Lanny Wild, who just so happened to have the Night Howler antidote in his truck and was passing by on the same road. Gideon's head bowed as he ran his fingers through his bangs, putting the phone on the table as his shoulders shook. _She almost… she almost shrieked us to death…_

"Huh."

"Huh?" Gideon replied, putting the phone back to his ear, "What's 'huh', is 'huh' good?"

"Alright, fox, your sister gets to keep her ugly, painted toes, and because you were actually helpful, Nick gets to keep all his teeth, too. Good job."

A mortified relief numbed Gideon, sitting in a cold sweat but hardly able to keep himself erect, knowing that his heaving breaths were audible over the phone, but not necessarily caring.

"All you need to do now is follow through on what you said you would. I'll be watching, so don't do anything stupid. And keep your phone on you, I'll buzz you when I let your friends go, or the sheriff will when they're found, whichever comes first. Nod if you got all that."

Gideon nodded with baited breath.

 _Click._

Turning off the phone and returning it to its cradle, Gideon slumped back in the chair before sliding out of it, feeling quite like a sack of molasses as he wobbled to his feet and picked up the stack of plasticware. However, when he moved out of sight of the window he freed up his paws to spin about and glower, alternating between pointing a finger and shaking his fists at the phone, _You're gonna get yours, just wait and see!_ and then nodded with confidence. Now feeling like an _upright_ sack of molasses, Gideon returned to his room to grab his wallet and keys, knowing that he'd done all he could to save as many mammals as possible (himself included) and a lot of his plan hinged on the assumption that he knew his food as well as he thought he did. _Nick certainly seems to think so_ , pondered the fox, and then felt a little surer in the sheer craziness of his plan.

All the while he loaded up his van and secured the precarious payload inside his logo-emblazoned vat, Gideon kept his movements deliberate but shaky, still feeling the sniper's scope on the back of his head and wondering if Graves was the type to simply _decide_ that he wasn't needed anymore. _Not until the pie-eating contest, so long as I play along until then,_ the fox kept telling himself, _Just until Sheriff Longmare finds him, or Nick and Judy get the upperhand… or both! Both could happen and ev'rything'll be okay._ Rubbing his paw on the van's side, Gideon steeled his nerves as best he could, _Sure hope this works,_ and then climbed in behind the wheel to complete his own part, which in the best case scenario did nothing to catch the villain, but at least prevented disaster.

With his sunglasses in place, Gideon backed out from the driveway with practiced motions, utilizing his side mirrors in lieu of a rearview to turn onto the main road at which his family's farm sat at the end of (in terms of residential farms, in any case, since it did loop back towards Preds' Corner in a roundabout fashion). The day was bright and the sky checkered in fluffy whites with hardly a hint of any gray threatening the peace of the Tri-Burrow Reunion's initiation. However, as Gideon pulled along and into view of a collection of buildings which only the night before was little more than a sleepy silhouette, it became clear to him that if anything were to disrupt the festivities of a once-to-thrice in a lifetime celebration like the TBR, it would be the same societal upheaval that almost brought it to a screeching halt the _last_ time.

"What the _heck_?" disbelieved an understandably bewildered fox, pulling to the side of the road to lean out his window and stare down at a cluster of tents (some still in the process of pitching) that _certainly_ weren't there the last time he drove by, and something told him it had nothing to do with all those bunnies from Knotash. He squinted through his tinted lenses and managed to make out a large poster of… "Is that a lion cub? No way… oh _jeez_ ," he groaned and sat heavily into his seat, "It's those _loonies_ looking for that 'Missing Prince'!" he grumbled, and put his van back into gear to continue driving and griping, "Twenty years they been at it, turn over every rock darn near _everywhere_ 'cept the moon, but somehow think he's back in Preds' Corner? Well, this day jus' got _better_ , didn't it."

Gideon was seven or eight when Simon King, son of corporate powerhouse Memphis King of Pridelands Enterprises, went missing during the family's vacation in a remote ranch house of Horseshire; despite a security detail that rivaled the mayor's own protective services, young Simon King and Ryan Wild (son of Samson Wild, who himself was a powerhouse of the music world and close friend of the King family) vanished from the grounds without a trace. Ryan showed up after the third day, huddled in a shipping container at one of the Pridelands loading docks in Lions Gate, and according to his testimony, was hidden there by Simon so _he_ could lead away their pursuers (who remain unconfirmed, much less identified). The distance that those two cubs would need to travel unnoticed, and the idea that they were being chased, makes "The Missing Prince" one of the biggest, most conspiratorial unsolved mysteries in modern Zootopian history.

The fox still remembered the late-night search parties, the vigils, the false reports… _Which shoulda ended years and years ago_ , he huffed. It's not that Gideon was callous, merely chaffed that _now_ of all times, "those loonies" had to show up and cause trouble, right when he thought it was safe to catch his breath. _Well… so long as they don't nose about my corner of the TBR, I guess it won't be that big an issue. Still… why show up at all?_ This gave Gideon something else to ponder en route to his bakery, recalling not only the missing youth PSAs that popped up after the whole thing started, but the broadcast segments from the biggest radio shock-jocks at the time, "'No Worries' with Tim  & Bob" in Savannah Central. It was them that shifted public opinion, ever-so-slightly, to sympathy for the King family; after all, as Tim often said, not even the great Memphis King was invulnerable to such a tragedy as the kidnapping and loss of a child. It was his mate, Sarah King, that brought awareness to missing youths those twenty years ago in the form of a charity ball (which Tim and Bob later parroted in a much more casual "Dress in Drag and Do the Hula" Luau for Lost Youngin's, an event persisting to this day), and is said to have influenced the reform of outdated child-protection laws.

"They'd best not be in Bunnyburrow proper," grumped Gideon, and let Preds' Corner vanish from view in his mirror, elbow slung out the window as the warm, midday wind rushed through his fur. As much as the fox enjoyed the breeze, however, he had to roll up his window on account of a ringing phone, his own phone (Nick's phone was kept securely hidden by tucking it into the back of his pants and pulling his shirt over it).

It was Bo. They exchanged numbers a few months ago in case of emergencies, and because the earthen-furred rabbit loved the cinnamon-raisin-oatmeal cookies Gideon made. It used to be that Bo regarded Gideon the same way most of Bunnyburrow did (it didn't help that there was some bullying that happened when they were kids before Bo moved away as a teenager, if more in the physical sense as opposed to Grav's mental antagonism), but had since grown to like him in the same way most of Bunnyburrow did (which might have something to do with the acceptance shown by Judy and the rest of the Hopps household, upholding not only the fox's reformation but also his top-notch skills as a pastry chef). He attached the mobile device to his dashboard and flicked the green button to answer, doing his best to hide an inching dread, "Heya Bo, how're you doin'?"

"Hiya Gid, I'm great, doin' great, personally speaking. It's just, umm, this might be kind of _odd_ to ask, but is Judy there with you? Been trying to get in touch with her all morning, but she's not picking up, and I heard she stayed at your house last night, so I figured you'd know where she was," said the rabbit.

 _Ah jeez…_ cringed Gideon, quite glad it wasn't a video call, so it gave him a chance to answer as best he could, "She… _isn't_ here with me… right now, that is, _because_ … umm… I'm headed to my bakery to pick up all that whipped cream for today's pie-eating contest. Are you still goin' to that?" he asked, thumbs drumming on the steering wheel.

"Oh…" replied a dismayed Bo, "Hmm… I said I would, so I really should, but I was hoping Judy was there. With you, I mean. She must have turned her phone off to sleep off yesterday; she did it in college after big tests and projects to 'recharge her batteries'. That's prob'ly what's up," he said, and sounded a little brighter, "By the way, did you ever hear from Grampa Reggie?"

"N-… No, I can't say I _did._ _Should_ I have?" asked the fox, trying to recall _who_ "Reggie" was… _Oh, tha's right, he's Mr. H's pop. I coulda tripped over him and not know it. What does he want with me, though?_

"Huh… I figured he got in touch with you somehow. Judy and I chatted with him at the hospital last night, and then she needed to talk with you and Nick about something _really_ urgent," and it sounded like he leaned in to whisper, "It was about Grav and the pie-eating contest, wasn't it?" before speaking regularly again. "Grampa Reggie wanted to apologize to me _personally_ for what Grav did, hitting me with his car and everything."

"Speaking of," interrupted Gideon, "Are you up and about?"

"Oh, yeah!" chuckled Bo, "Was discharged this morning. I'll be ready for the tractor pull this afternoon, too. I'm here right now in fact, watching them set it up. I offered to help, but they said they got it handled," and made a grunt as though to shrug, "Anyway, what was I talking about… Right, Grampa Reggie; he seemed nervous that you were just leaving the hospital, kinda like he _wanted_ to talk to you, but also _didn't_ want to. Does that make sense?"

 _Not a lick,_ "I don't know what he'd want to tell _me_ , unless it has something to do with the contest… hey Bo, if you're free, could you check on my tent? Make sure it ain't burned down, or somethin'."

"You got it!" he said, seemingly happy to have a task set on his abnormally large shoulders, and then leaned in to whisper again, "I'll report back any… _suspicious_ activity."

Gideon was quite sure Bo winked to the phone before the call ended, and opened the driver-side window again to get back to thinking as he passed the rolling fields of Bunnyburrow and Horseshire beyond. _This really does feel like a Mr. Foxglove adventure, don't it_ , he mused, _All those times I wished I were in one, and here I am, jus' barely hangin' on by the tips of my claws. It's a good thing I'm only a baker and not a cop or a spy, huh?_

 _I guess that thing Reggie wanted to tell me wasn't life-or-death, elsewise he'd've called me by now; Mr. and Mrs. H have my number, he could've gotten it from them easy, and it's not like he was too far behind us that he couldn't catch up. Just what was he so nervous to tell me, anyway? I really don't know much about Reggie… but I think I saw his name somewhere important when I went to the tent assignment yesterday, so I guess that makes him kind of a big shot in the TBR, don't it._ Gideon cruised in mental silence, and casually turned on the radio.

Grunting softly as a crazy idea nibbled at the edge of his thoughts, the fox suddenly sprung upright to clap both paws to the wheel, _What if he knew about the Night Howler? I suppose he wouldn't know that Nick or Judy or even Bo was onto this whole scheme, so he'd have to come to_ me _, wouldn't he. But if it_ was _something so life-and-death as that, he'd've been doubly sure to call me…_ The words of Chief Bogo charged to the forefront of his mind: 'suspicious accident'.

"Oh gosh," he said aloud, juggling his attention between driving with the sparse traffic on that road and the brainstorm thundering behind his eyes, "If Reggie knew about the Night Howler and wanted to tell me, Magnus would've hired the Gravedigger to keep him quiet…" thought on it, and then shook his head, "Tha's jus' a whole new level of crazy, Gideon, c'mon! Magnus is prob'ly rotten to the core, but why would he kill his own pop? So far as either of 'em knew, I didn't even _know_ about the Night Howler until yesterday, which means the Gravedigger woulda just so happened to be in Bunnyburrow for someone _else_ , unless he _too_ is visiting family." And he huffed.

As the music from the radio continued, Gideon forced himself to relax into his seat, "Just… get the pie-eating contest over with, Graves will get caught by Sheriff Longmare, and life can go on. Reggie probl'y just… maybe he had a change of heart about what he wanted to tell me, is all, no doubt somethin' to do with a _fox_ bein' part of the TBR, and thought better than to make a big deal about it. Tha's prob'ly all it was," and continued along in simmering quiet until pulling onto the road he always used to get to his bakery from Preds' Corner.

"What the _heck_?" Gideon once more exclaimed, stopping at the final turn when he spotted two cruisers from the sheriff's office parked a few blocks down from his bakery, but directly in his usual route. He leaned out his window and squinted through his tinted lenses, and then yanked himself back inside the van, _Jumpin' Jehowlsephat! If Graves sees me anywhere_ near _a deputy, who knows what he'll do? Like Essy always says, 'The criminally insane are called "insane" for a reason', he might think I'm going for help._ And he recalled what scenarios he could of movies or TV shows where hostages were hurt because the kidnappers thought that the proper authorities might be involved. Gideon shook his head again and pulled off to a side street to sneak around the commotion… but on the same token, he wanted to see what brought out _two_ deputies (or maybe even the sheriff herself!) on such an important day as the beginning of the TBR.

With a craning, rubbery neck, Gideon wove behind the buildings opposite of those facing the woods bordering Bunnyburrow proper (of which his was one) and slowed just enough to peek down an alleyway, dropping his sunglasses to the tip of his nose that he might recognize where the cruisers were parked. _Tha's… tha's the pawn shop. Is Tad in trouble, or hurt? I mean, he's kinda involved in this whole Night Howler thing, in a way… Maybe it was that cousin of his, that gruff lookin' ram Nick talked about on Saturday? Whoo boy, I'd best not linger, if tha's the case…_ And promptly drove right along until arriving at the vacant lot behind his place of business and residence. It felt like an eternity since he'd been home, and as he stepped up to the backdoor of his kitchen, breathed in its scents.

He could almost feel Nick's presence as he unlocked the door to his kitchen and stepped inside, could almost smell him nearby, and looked at the counter where Nick looked full-on at his uncovered back and how _he_ wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole. Sixteen years he kept his scars secret. Sixteen years he kept anyone and everyone at arm's reach. And then this _city-fox_ , an estranged relation that he could've gone his whole life without ever knowing existed falls out of the blue and reveals to all the real Gideon Grey. But the weirdest thing about it was that Gideon was grateful to him for it. Reaching into the bucket he usually kept for tossing scraps into, he instead pulled out Nick's torn, raggedy shirt he tried so hard to get clean of the cooking oil he spilled on it, and in his mental anguish, nearly ripped it in half. Somehow, Nick got both of his _own_ shirts off, as if it were so _easy_ to peel back a shell formed over half-a-lifetime, and then they chased and played and wrestled like kits, as if they had known each other forever…

It reminded Gideon of Travis Blackfoot, back when they couldn't go a day without finding something fun to do… or someone small to bully. He really was Gideon's best friend before pred-therapy, and as much as he hated to admit it, Grav was right; Travis never really stuck around when he went to Brackwater High with every other young mammal while Gideon was in the Lost Boys with the rest of the "troubled young predators". When he moved to the city for college, he was gone for good. _I can't believe that Travis was just one of Grav's lackeys, though,_ Gideon decided, and threw the shirt back into the bucket from whence it came when he recalled the jailed bunny's barb from last night, _I knew Travis better than Grav ever could, and he was a ferret, sure, but we were best buds, thick as thieves, his family just… they just didn't want him palling around with me anymore, I guess, not that I blame 'em, things considered._

Breathing deep, Gideon went over to the fridge wherein Saturday's hard work awaited its use, and unlocked it to transfer the multitude of identical containers of clean whipped cream to his van, one armful at a time. With each load of fluffy white sweetness, he wondered where Nick was, where the Gravedigger was holding him, Essy, and Judy, and if they were still okay. It gnawed at him, that mounting doubt, but his belief in his friends kept him together. _Jus' one more step, jus' one more step_ , Gideon repeated to himself in a humming hymn, and when the last container was secured in his van, he moved on to the multitudinous trays of tiny, bunny-sized pies. His nose tingled with the strongest memory of Nick's scent with each stack he moved, so he blinked away the forming mist as the transfer of baked goods reached its completion. "Don't worry, cous', you got my back and I got yours. We'll remember all this and laugh, we will, we jus' need to hold on for a bit longer," he assured the whipped cream and pies filling his van before closing its doors.

Probing one last time down the street, the baker lamented the deputies' persisting presence at Tad's pawn shop, and though he could make out no details of the situation, it was clear to him that whatever happened there was _big_ , and fretted whether Chief Bogo would be able to pull Sheriff Longmare's attention away from it long enough to look for the Gravedigger. _Did he mean to do that?_ struck the thought, _Bogo said that Graves was meticulous, patient, and ruthless, all the things a villain needs to be to cook up evil schemes inside of other, bigger evil schemes… Nick, Judy, and I might very well be alone in thwarting this guy, which the best we could do is get away with Essy in one piece…?_ He scratched behind his ears in thought and then put his sunglasses back on, _I got my part to finish, don't I, and that's the best I can do for right now_ , and returned to his van to drive off for the TBR.

It was a small mercy that Gideon received no calls from either Graves or anyone else along that drive (having figured some time ago that the sniper called him on the house phone _not_ because it was the only available option for communication, but to position him next to that specific window), and with sunlit breeze whipping his fur about once more, the fox let his mind wander to other, non-life-threatening things. Like what he was going to do afterwards, especially now that he needn't be afraid of anyone finding out about his mangled back. _And even if they did, so what?_ he couldn't help but muse, _Maybe I should come up with cool stories for these scars… even the muzzle? I… coulda been a fighter, real rough-'n'- tumble like Pa was before he came up north with Essy. Or an adventurer like Grampub, livin' by my wits and claws. Something a li'l more int'resting than punished for bein' a bully._ He bit his dark, bottom lip at the whimsy of it all, and when his pinned ears flushed bright red he kneaded the steering wheel, _Maybe I could even meet someone… Wasn't ever possible before, things considered, but now?_ Out on the open road, with no one within earshot, he allowed himself a quiet, gleeful chuckle. It felt good to be happy again, and as the uniform white tents of the TBR came into view, decorated in festive rainbow streamers and towering pillars of balloons, Gideon felt more than able to reflect its vibrant merriment, despite the underlying shadow that loomed over him and his loved ones.

Approaching the gateway leading into an access lot behind a number of the tents, Gideon waved to the equine guard, "Howdy Junior," said the fox, and received a hoofed wave in turn.

"Hiya Mr. Grey," replied 'Junior', sliding open the metal barrier, which to him was only waist-high.

"You can call me 'Gideon', I won't mind."

"You won't, my supervisor _will_ ," sighed the horse, and gently tapped at the tablet balanced on his hoof, "By the way, I suggest you keep an eye out, those 'Lookers' are in Horseshire again."

"Aye, they were in Preds' Corner, too," groaned the fox, "I s'pose their not being here was too much to hope for. Hey Junior, I saw some deputies over by Tad's pawn shop today. Have you heard anything about that?"

"I was going to ask if _you_ did. I've been here all morning, but the grapevine's on fire about it six ways to Sunday, and I can't make heads nor tails of it," and rolled his eyes with a grand gesture of his arm, "Some say he's a terrorist, others say a demon worshiper, and that's just in the last _hour_. I'll have to wait until I hear it from Sheriff Longmare, or in the paper."

Gideon hummed as he rolled in past the gateway, Junior closing it behind him, "Thanks for the heads up," and waved out the window on his way around and to the yellow-striped tent assigned to him for the upcoming event. He still remembered how Nick and Judy deduced its significance as the only colored tent, how it was meant as an identifier for those outside the TBR, the "unwitting subjects" of the drug test. He turned and reversed up the gentle slope to, what he was relieved to see, an already open tent flap with a short but burly someone standing and waving.

It was Bo. And he came out to greet the fox wearing a faded yellow tank top and also faded blue jean shorts with frayed hems. "Gid!" he called, both fists to his hips and chest pushed out, "I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up."

"I ain't _that_ late, the contest won't be for another two hours," Gideon called back after killing the engine and unlocking the rear door from a button on the dashboard, "Tent's still standing, I see?"

"Oh, of course," replied the chocolaty-rabbit, brushing his fingertips against his chest proudly, "I opened it up, aired it out, cleaned up some standing water and checked the pump and oven. All shipshape."

Leaning over a bit, a box of tools was visible to the baker just inside the flap, "Fast worker," he chuckled, and clapped the bare shoulder; "Is it laundry day, or somethin'?" asked the fox.

"Huh?" grunted the rabbit, and looked down at his shabby self, laughing bashfully, "Oh! Yeah, it kinda crept up on me. My line of work cuts how many times I can re-wear clothes, and this was the cleanest I had."

Gideon's demeanor shifted to a more serious tone, "A'ight, so you, uhh…" he began, leaning in with a gesture and putting his arm around Bo's back to whisper, "Notice anything _off_?"

"All's quiet on the western front," was the answer behind a raised paw, short (for a bunny) ears perked, "No listening devices that _I_ could see, and no suspicious characters scoping the place out. Best I can figure, _no_ one's getting poisoned today," he grinned and gave a thumbs-up.

"Listen, Bo," Gideon continued, wrestling with himself if it were the best thing to do at the moment, but he looked about quickly before leaning in so close his snout nearly touched the rabbit's ear, "I couldn't tell you over the phone, but things are… _messy_ , right now…"

Bo's brow furrowed with intent, but his eyes widened with concern, "What d'you mean by 'messy'?"

The fox knew he passed the point of no return, "Judy, Nick, and Essy were kidnapped last night," and the rabbit only choked a gasp in response. Between the furious disbelief and the crippling worry, Gideon's immediate paw at Bo's chest to stay him was hardly different from holding a locomotive in place. "Cool it, I'm scared too, but they're safe so long as _we_ play along. The sheriff's looking for them _right now_ , and she's got the best cops in the ZPD helping her. I don't know how, but _someone_ got the Night Howler out of her office, and I had to mix it with a new batch of whipped cream, except I made it so that none of the bunnies in the contest will eat _any_ of it," he said as succinctly as he could.

Worried brown eyes glanced down as the gears in his head processed this new, disturbing information, and it was at this point that Gideon had to brace his feet against the ground and the paw against his chest to keep Bo from falling over. "I should've been there to protect Judy," he finally concluded, a numb lamentation more under his breath if anything.

A consoling pat on the back later, the frowning fox gave what comfort he could to the distraught rabbit, "There weren't anything you or I could've done, Bo. What took her was an elite assassin, the meanest, shadiest guy in Zootopia. I'm scared-to-death, because he got Essy and Nick, too," Gideon reiterated, trying his best to maintain his own composure, and what helped in that regard was having someone else to share his worry, but also to support, "But it's up to us to keep our heads on straight, because so long as we let him think that we're under his thumb, then the sheriff can nab him and save our friends."

Bo's breath eventually returned to him, as did the strength in his stance, and though his ears were pinned back he asked with determination, "They… they were got because we foiled the scheme with the _midnicampum holicithias_ , right? So as long as nothing interrupts that plan, Judy and the others will be let go. Right?"

"Right. We just gotta make sure that the bunnies eat plenty of pies covered in whipped cream. We do that, it'll look like everything's going along without a hitch… in fact, I could use your help with something," he said with an insisting smile, and stood out of the huddle to toss his thumb back at the van, "I need you to check out some whipped cream."

They both approached the unlocked door of the van, Bo's shoulders squared as he held his own hips in uncertainty (the last time he downed the stuff didn't end well for him), Gideon smiling casually as he popped open the vat with its uniquely-shaped and -colored plasticware. "Grab a few of those trays, if you'd be so kind," he requested, nodding to the little pies as he turned to carry his armful of drugged confectionary into the tent. Inside, Gideon peeked through the front flap and saw that there was already a long table set up with a bright red checkered tablecloth secured into place with half-a-dozen chairs along one side, and a stack of extras nearby. He breathed deep, _I'll need to make sure this works before anyone shows up,_ he thought, noticing that the normal Reunion-goers were out-and-about in the main thoroughfare of the festivities, and then turned towards Bo as he set down the pies.

"So, all that's poisoned, huh?" he asked nonchalantly, studying the different containers.

"Yep. It's a bit _'diluted'_ , on account I had to stretch it out, but it'll still be bad if anyone swallows it all the same," explained the baker, and pulled off the lid of the first, from which all the rest came, and leaned in to sniff it with a mildly pleased trill. Bo watched curiously, and at Gideon's beckoning, leaned over to sniff it himself.

The rabbit cringed and reeled to wipe his nose, " _Yeesh_ , what'd you put in there?" he asked, if suspicious, since it clearly wasn't something that affected _Gideon_.

" _Psst!_ " hissed a voice when the fox opened his mouth to answer only to snap his jaw shut and whisk about with a line of fur rising from ears to tail-tip, the rabbit's ears springing high for the noise, "Down here!" Both smaller mammals nearly jumped when they saw a large, pouting, tawny face sticking out between a pair of great mitt-like paws from under one the tent's walls.

" _Lanny?_ " gawked Gideon.

"Hey, you're that nurse from the hospital last night!" Bo said with growing (if shocked) delight, "But… what're you doing _here_?"

Lanny's eyes widened and brows arched when he recognized the rabbit, "Oh! You're the bunny that got hit with the car… What're _you_ doing here, you should be resting?"

"Hey, I asked you first," Bo remarked smugly.

Gideon walked over and crouched nearby, "How'd you know to come here?"

Lanny glanced up as he sighed through his bottom lip, "Nick texted me at two-in-the-morning about your yellow tent and a 'Just in case'. So _after_ breakfast, I packed up all my stuff, drove here, parked a ways off, and then walked the distance; only to find a bunch of those stupid _Lookers_ prowling about! So I slipped inside the tent and hid until they went away… but they _still_ haven't!"

Bo scratched his head with confusion, not about "Lookers", since he was old enough to remember the Missing Prince fiasco and the nigh-cult it caused, but he never had a reason to _hide_ from them, "What, are they dangerous?"

"You ain't Simon King, though," reasoned Gideon.

"I'm a _lion_! _All_ lions my age have been ducking those nutcases ever since it all started," he grumbled, "I thought I was safe in your tent until _he_ came around," and nodded towards a taken-aback Bo, "It's a lucky thing _this_ tent was empty."

"I wouldn't've snitched on you, or anything, you practically saved my life!" pleaded the bunny, and at a quirked brow from Gideon, "Okay, maybe it's more like my _week_ , but he definitely saved me all the same."

Lanny frowned and glanced up apologetically, "I'm sorry, but I didn't recognize you and I couldn't risk getting found by them."

"And you've been stuck in there all this time? Why didn't you call me or Nick? Or… well, _any_ one to come help?" asked Gideon.

"I forgot my phone in the truck…" he mumbled with bashful self-disappointment, "I brought the Night Howler antidote, but I didn't bring my _phone_ …"

Bo's fist clapped to his palm, "An antidote, of course! Clever thinking, Nick," he smiled, and then quirked a brow in thought, half-a-smile persisting still, "How'd Nick find a nurse with the antidote, anyway?"

Poised to answer, Gideon halted when he realized that telling Bo about Judy's little "taste test" might _not_ be the best course of action at the moment, considering he was not known for his rationalism when it came to her well-being and _Nick_ (perhaps one of the most rational mammals he could think of, behind his sister) about bit her head off for doing something so foolhardy as testing an unknown drug on herself. When _Lanny_ opened his mouth to answer, the fox swiped one of the nearby pies to stuff it into the feline's maw and snapped it shut with a gentle push on the snout, "Lanny here got my van out of a ditch last night." Grateful though the lion was for food (as evidenced by a mewling moan at the taste of the pie), he gave a doubtful glance towards the fox amidst the audible munching, " _Judy_ can explain it better when you meet up with her again," Gideon explained to Bo but _said_ to Lanny.

Skeptical brown eyes glanced between the two predators, and he scratched at the other side of his head, "…And you just started talking about the Night Howler antidote?"

Once again, Lanny opened his mouth to answer but was stopped by another pie, and munched with hinted frustration as he glanced up to an awkwardly grinning Gideon, "It was… umm…"

"Gid…" said Bo, arms crossed over a squaring chest, standing up to his full height (ears included), "You trusted me enough to bring me into this on Saturday, so why don't you trust me enough to tell me what happened last night? I'd bet _Lanny_ knows," he accused the fox while nodding to the lion. In the absence of response, a long, powerful bunny foot thumped the temporary tile floor of the tent, "This is about _Judy_ , isn't it?"

"Maybe…" mumbled the fox, twiddling his fingers and looking to his fellow predator for support, but only got an arched brow, hooded eyelids, and then an open mouth with expectant, guttural vocalization. Perhaps it wasn't so much intimidation that persuaded Gideon to spill the beans (even though he was _quite_ sure that Bo could lift him over his head and throw him like a beach ball) but a remorse that he, indeed, displayed an undue distrust of someone who was as deeply involved in this predicament as he was. After supplying one more pie to the lion, Gideon stood up with a clap of paws to his haunches, "Judy… she ate the whipped cream, only a teensy bit, and we tried to talk her out of it but I guess she wanted to prove somethin'… not to us but to _herself_. Nick and I… we _barely_ caught her before she hit the ground, right outside the farmhouse, and as it was, her Uncle Magnus and Aunt Clea were inside at the time, so bringin' her knocked-out body inside was a bad, _bad_ idea, so instead, we got in the van and drove back to the hospital, but we pulled off to the side of the road and got stuck."

"That's where I come in," said Lanny as he finished off the third pie with a lick of his lips, and sounding much more amiable because, "After I cleared their van of that ditch and was about to leave, Gid here bursts out with a seizing bunny intoxicated with _midnicampum holicithias_ , according to Nick. Now, I'm not a doctor but I still have an oath to uphold, so before anything else, I fetch the case of antidote that my paranoid hospital director makes everyone carry with them at all times. I'll be honest, I had my doubt it'd work because she wasn't exhibiting _any_ of the normal signs for Night Howler ingestion, but I administered it, and after a minute or so she came to, healthy as could be."

Gideon rubbed his lower back and cleared his throat, "We were caught red-pawed at that point, and told Lanny all we learned. It was the least we could do for saving the three of us like he did."

"Well…" smiled a bashful lion.

The fox grinned sincerely and scratched his cheek, "Anywho, I guess Nick wanted the antidote near the contest, 'just in case'," the fox air-quoted with a shrug of his shoulders, "But I'm hopin' it doesn't come to that."

Bo remained silent, arms still crossed and brow furrowed, but it looked like he - once again - wrestled with two conflicting, negative emotions… even if he _was_ looking expectantly at Gideon, and it hardly seemed like he was wanting one of the pies.

"…I'm sorry I hid that from ya', Bo, it weren't right of me to do so," the fox apologized, and almost immediately the rabbit's shoulders sagged when he shuffled his feet as though equally admonished.

"Nah, don't worry about it," he said, though not in a way that he simply dismissed the remorse, but rather accepted in full what was rightly due. He rubbed his nape, the worry and fear as obvious to the sensitive noses of both predators as the whiskers on their faces, and if either Nick or Judy were there to read the earthen-rabbit, she (but _not_ he) would be remiss to elaborate how Bo tried with all his gumption to not admit through ov _ert_ action that Gideon's assumption of any over- _re_ action on his part was absolutely correct. Indeed, it was perhaps the posturing between young males which mitigated his over _whelming_ desire to protect the bunny he loved, allowing him to keep a cool head and so participate in a plan that could easily derail with short-sighted, if admirable, attempts at heroism. Luckily for the rabbit, his turmoil remained internal, for neither Gideon nor Lanny witnessed anything more than a collected individual handling even _more_ bad news with maturity (were it not for his foot thumping a mile-a-minute and nearly drowning out their thoughts). "Alright, let's get this thing started!" he beamed and clapped his paws, so stopping his rabbit-related tells.

"So I'll keep waiting here, then?" frowned Lanny.

"'Fraid so," admitted Gideon, "Anything I can get ya'?"

"How about a tray of those pies and some water?" the lion asked with appreciable hope.

"Comin' right up," chimed the fox, and grabbed the tray from which he pulled the pies initially and, as Lanny scuttled back, paused in confusion before slipping it under the tent wall, "I'll pump ya' some water in a jiff." _Tha's weird…_ he thought as Bo was carrying trays of pies from the van to the counter and the portable refrigeration unit, and took a moment to count off on his fingers, _Lessee… I put ten pies on each tray for easy counting, and I gave Lanny three pies off_ that _tray, but there were only six pies on it… did I miscount a pie?_ He grabbed up a large cup from the supply of cooking utensils he'd brought over the day before and pumped some fresh, cool water into it. _Oh, Bo really did a wonder on this thing,_ grinned the fox, and the miscounting slipped his mind as he supplied Lanny with a source of hydration, and then went about warming up the portable oven.

"Hey Gid, have you seen my sunglasses?" asked a mildly dismayed Bo, staring at an empty spot on a nearby table.

"Those glow-in-the-dark ones?"

"Yeah, I left them right here a few minutes ago, but they up and walked off," and checked underneath the elevated surface in case they fell, but to no avail.

"And you're _sure_ you had 'em?" said a fox of some growing concern, however minor. _I don't usually miscount my pies… and they're cheap sunglasses, but Bo looked so proud when he thought he earned them after talking fox with me and Nick…_

"Darn sure; I haven't gone anywhere without them since Saturday, ya'know, for protection," he grinned over his shoulder, but then shrugged and walked out of the tent to continue unloading, "I'll find them later, they can't have gotten far."

 _He really thinks a bunny'll get sunblindness,_ chuckled Gideon, but it was a point of consideration that stuff went missing without cause, even if it was a pair of sunglasses and a pie or two.

" _Psst!_ "

Gideon's ears perked at another hiss from the tent's wall, but when a cursory glance for the noise revealed no lion head poking out, he approached it and batted at the yellow-striped barrier. "Lanny?" he whispered harshly, bending down to lift up the wall and poke his nose underneath but then remembered too little, too late that the nurse hid on the _other_ side of the tent…

It happened quickly, too quickly for Gideon to even realize that he was grabbed by his shirt collar until he was already whisked away to the _other_ unoccupied tent adjacent to his own. He remembered the theories behind these "dummy tents". Maybe they were used for observation; maybe to hide someone who was the opposite of friendly. As it was, the fox found his mouth held securely shut and a pair of bright, predatory eyes staring directly into his, and a row of keen, sharp fangs glistening in the sunlight that crept in through the vacant tent's cracks.

The baker was paralyzed, staring up at who lured him, snatched him, and trapped him with such meticulous patience and flawless expertise that it boggled the mind. He tried to talk, say _something_ but the clawed paw around his mouth kept everything a muffled whimper, while the other paw lifted a single finger to touch his hushing lips, before those rows of fangs glistened again. Tears filled blue eyes as he gazed up, knowing that everything he thought, everything he felt in his very _soul_ about that taller carnivore pinning him to the ground was true beyond a shadow of a doubt, even though Gideon never knew him until that weekend; even though he would never had known him if not for circumstances so beyond his control, he could hardly think of himself as little more than a speck of dust caught in the wind.

There was no composure left in him, any steel he might've forged was gone… so he sobbed until the grass on which he trembled grew damp, and did the only thing he could possibly think to do in such a situation… with all his dwindling might, every fiber of strength left in his arms and core, Gideon flung his arms up and yelled as loud as a choked throat permitted in one, final act of sanity…

"Stretch!" he hoarsely cried, and embraced his cousin whose bright green eyes - those "Savage Eyes" - smiled beneath a pair of glow-in-the-dark sunglasses perched atop his head; whose teeth gleamed behind dark lips curled in a smug grin with a lingering scent of pie; whose height boasted a solid two inches on the stouter fox but now seemed so much greater that it was though he needed to hunch over to fit inside the tent. He escaped the Gravedigger, somehow someway, and returned with the sly smile befitting a fox that dodged death, just as Gideon _knew_ he would…

* * *

As far as Nick could remember from the night before…

 _Those photos were from "Mack the Sparrow", the fox knew this. No one in the city could pull information out of thin air quite like he could, and this nugget was pried off the deepest, darkest underbelly of Zootopia. Someone went to tremendous lengths to hide them, but after Nick asked Finnick, the Sparrow's progeny, to find something on "Gideon Grey" cross-referenced with "predator therapy" from sixteen years ago, they arrived on his phone all the same._

 _And boy-oh-boy, they found something, all right._

 _Nick was on his third can of_ _Cub Soda_ _, and it was nearly 4:00AM before the girls managed to wrap up a tight little case against Magnus and Clea Hopps. All they needed was a proper smoking gun, and what a smoking gun arrived in the fox's (encrypted) email. Now, there were plenty of things Nick saw in his life that haunted him (with the charred corpse of someone he knew holding the grand prize), but he was pretty sure he just found the runner-up. Carbonated sugar water sprayed against the top of the can and against his own face in a cacophony, so Nick set the phone face-down on the counter of the Greys' kitchen as he coughed and grabbed a towel to clean himself up with._

 _What they, Judy and Esther, said wasn't necessarily clear at the time, only how upset they were for Nick keeping "crucial evidence" from them for some "contrived reason", "belittling them" in thinking that they couldn't handle a "shock". Maybe it was the late night on a taxing case with sugar and caffeine combined into a monstrous state of agitation, but it was a mad chase to get the fox's phone, calling on all his wily tricks to duck-and-weave until managing to slip out the kitchen's backdoor. Dunking the device into either the tub or the sink wouldn't provide a long enough delay for him to speak his piece, so the rain barrel he spotted earlier would have to suffice._

 _The three were outside, now, Nick getting yelled at for his "childish", "chauvinistic" behavior but he stood firm against them. Their words were dull echoes of indignation in his memory, but his words were loud and clear:_

 _"_ _There! You want to see it so badly, then dive in and get it!"_

 _…_

 _"_ _If you see that picture, then that is the_ only _way you'll ever see him again, and you'll blame yourselves for it. You already blame yourselves for what happened, and you can't actually_ see _his scars. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong?"_

 _…_

 _"_ _Because_ I've _only known him a weekend, Carrots, not my whole life! …Or_ his _whole life."_

 _…_

 _"_ _Cherries… I won't fish that phone out but if you truly, sincerely want to see those photos, I will unlock it, but…"_

 _…_

 _"_ _Carrots…? Snipe-!"_

 _…_

Nick woke in pain. He was dehydrated, blindfolded, his wrists were bound behind his back, and there was a warped floorboard jutting into his hip. In all honestly, it wasn't the first time he found himself in such a situation, but the primary difference was that a swift strike from some manner of bludgeon jarred him out of the darkness between days as opposed to a foghorn, and Nick voiced his disapproval of such rudeness in a pained scream.

"Nick!", as he knew his name to be, drifted across the haze of transition to consciousness.

"Your sister only has six toes but I can hit Nick all day, and it's a lot less blood to clean up," was the next, clearer phrase the fox heard.

 _¿Que?_ wondered Nick, _He almost sounds familiar, who is that…?_ Once again his train of thought derailed as a second swift, stinging strike found his shoulder. "Ow!" he barked with more enunciation, groaned and then added, "That was sarcastic, by the way, in case you didn't pick up on-" but was interrupted by another quick collision. _Jeez, these guys can't take a joke._

"Nick!" someone called again, somewhat more familiar now that pain cleared the head of any lingering, sleep-caused fog.

"Bangs?" came the surprised, staggering reply.

"I'm so sorry, Nick, I didn't mean to-!" pleaded who could only be Gideon.

"Okay, that's enough," cut-off a familiar, bored voice leaving the fox's earshot, on top of that a sack was shoved onto his head to prevent any further eavesdropping.

 _Ow, that really did hurt,_ thought Nick, shifting about where he lay while dipping in and out of consciousness, _And they've got a bag over my head, with - what is this… vinegar? - they must've spiked the bag with vinegar, no wonder I can't smell them… And… wow, this is really pungent… 'Eh…_

 _It feels like my wrists are in a zip-tie with a bag around my paws, so my claws won't do me much good. Whoever these guys are, they know how to catch a fox. That was definitely Gideon, so the 'sister' Mr. In-Charge mentioned would be Esther. Some kind of hostage situation, no doubt, and at least one of these schmucks is a professional; so me plus Gideon plus kidnapper equals that hit job Finnick warned of last night. Which… wow, that's got to be a world record for response time… They must have already been in Bunnyburrow last night. Rabbits, perhaps? No, can't be rabbits, even with me lying on the ground, they'd need to stand on a chair to get the kind of height to putt my shoulder like they did._

Nick wiggled about, ears flicking as best they could in the bag, tail slapping and swishing on the ground as he endeavored to get a better grasp of his environment… until someone stepped and pinned his tail to the ground. "Ah ah!" he gasped, " _Hey_ , that's my tail!"

"Then stop moving it about or I'll break it right off," replied an unhappy threat.

 _So they_ do _talk. I don't recognize this guy, but there's a definite bleating in his voice, and that foot was cloven, I should know. Ergo: ram. Good chance Mr. In-Charge is_ also _a ram, barring any extraordinary circumstances; birds of a feather, and all that._ "Oh! Okay, sorry, sorry," worried Nick, and curled up a bit more with his tail tucking in to further express a feigned concern, "The thing has a mind of its own, sometimes… gosh, sure is hard to breathe in this thing…" he wheezed, "It… _phew_ … really makes the head spin, doesn't it… Hey, umm, could you loosen the bag a bit? I'm mildly asthmatic, and wouldn't mind a little fresh air-"

A hard strike of the bludgeon smacked the floor mere inches from Nick head, "Shaddup."

Nick cringed (with a little genuine fear mixed in to sell it) and curled until he was face-down with his knees anchored in the floor to spike his haunches in the air, even scrunching in further emphasis of submission. "Okay, okay, loud and clear, zipping the lip… Oh, good news, the bag's already loose. Hah, lucky me!" and wiggled a bit more to poke his mouth and nose out beneath the vinegar-spiked hem for a full, exaggerated breath. _Rookie mistake, boy-o. When you remove the head-sack to show proof-of-life,_ always _recheck the knots on the hostage,_ boasted the fox.

"Hey!" bleated the ram, and as he stepped forward Nick wedged his toes beneath his knees until his haunches and spine coiled with spring-loaded potential, spreading his jaw to bare his fangs when the telltale hoof-fall neared. Though evolved, it was clear to Nick that despite any advantage this sheep foolishly squandered in the situation, he was _no_ combatant and his instincts were still very much in control of his reactionary tendencies; as such, glimpsing a set of very sharp teeth going for his throat immediately froze the grazer for a precious split second as he loosed a instantaneous, frightened bleat.

 _And there's your snout_ , determined Nick, snapping his jaw shut to brace his skull and spine, flexing every muscle in his stomach, chest, and back to headbutt the ram's nose with all the strength his full body could afford, launching himself completely off the floor at this point as the ram stumbled backwards with his hostage landing on top. It sounded like he wasn't horned, from the severe lack of loud clattering (aside from the bat, at least), and even through his clothes he was as soft as a pillow, so Nick's greatest challenge that morning was to fight every urge to fall asleep upon the downy wool of his assailant. _No…_ thought the fox, _Must… resist… evil… mattress… But oh my gosh this guy is so comfortable… If it weren't for this stanky sack over my head, anyway,_ and flattened his ears to shake off the loose bag. _So, vinegar to disrupt the sense of smell, and it's strong enough to make me loopy. Truly devious. Now, while I_ could _handle the rest of this blindfolded and both paws tied behind my back, I'm up against the clock and don't have time to play around. Let's get to rescuing the damsels-in-… I mean,_ damsel _-in-distress, alongside my plucky sidekick._

With a jerk of his tail, Nick rolled to the floor, on his back, arms used as a kickstand to suspend his padded hindpaws until both were well above his head, ever-so-slowly curling into himself with his toes almost touching his ears. _Benefits and hindrances to a body that is mostly torso: extraordinary flexibility to get one's bound wrists around the butt, yet always a challenge to find a shirt that doesn't show too much midriff,_ the fox narrated as a form of mental centering while he carefully looped his arms past his ankles. _Phew…_ he huffed, and rolled back fully to land on his feet, standing upright with his bound wrists to his chest. His teeth got to work tugging on the bag around his fingers so that his fingers could remove the blindfold, giving him all the visibility he needed to bite through the zip-tie. _That was annoying_ , he grunted and rubbed his newly freed but slightly chafed wrist before straightening his necktie, and finally got the opportunity to fully scope out his situation.

His ears were quick to swivel at anyone possibly approaching whatever room he was stashed in, wondering how much noise from that little scuffle attracted the others involved. _So far, so good,_ Nick ascertained, and then heard a soft groan from the guard… and with as precise a kick as was available to him, delivered a silencing knock-out blow, _They would need someone skilled to watch over Judy, more skilled than whoever this is. So, this room is completely filled with shelves,_ he noticed, _and it's all been cleared out in the center… This room was meant for me, then, because any loose object on the ground would be a tool for escape. Why not assign someone skilled to guard me? I'm almost insulted, and might just file a formal complaint to his supervisor for such shabby treatment. Unfortunately, the fact that he's a ram doesn't really narrow down the possible candidates as to_ who _that is, exactly._

He swept the room in a casual pivot and paws clasped behind him, careful not to step on the still out-cold sheep as hooded green eyes considered his surroundings. His brows arched, _Shelves housing a random assortment of tagged knickknacks with obviously sentimental and some monetary value… I do declare I'm in the storage room of a pawn shop. We're probably still in Bunnyburrow, any further out would be too long a trip in what I_ assume _is too short a time. With my regrettably limited knowledge, this amateur kidnapper may or may not be the local pawn shop owner, Tad Wooler. Tsktsk, Mr. Wooler, running with such an unsightly crowd._

A quick clap to his back pocket, and then some frantic searching reminded Nick that he so cleverly tossed his cellphone into the rain barrel back at the Greys' house, and then pinched the bridge of his nose in quiet self-reprimand. _In my defense, I didn't think I would be kidnapped last night_ , he sighed, gathering up the discarded bindings, _Actually, it's lucky I ditched it when I did, otherwise it'd be a pile of broken junk by now, courtesy of our kidnappers. How clever of me. I still need to contact some local authorities, though. If memory serves, Gideon said that Tad's pawn shop was a few blocks down from his bakery, which is good news for me,_ Nick recalled, quietly using the blindfold and the small pouch previously wrapped around his paws as a gag for the ram. He carefully tore the pungent sack into one long strip to lash the cloven hooves together, and looked duly proud of himself that his keen knowledge of Junior Ranger Scout knots once again came to his aid. After a moment's thought, Nick searched the ram for, and found, his burner phone.

 _Here we go_ , he grinned, and flipped it open to check the call history and logs, but about jumped from his fur when he saw the digital clock. _Jiminy Cricket, it's past noon!_ Well _past noon. How long was I out? Never mind, not as important right now. So let's see here… logs, logs… Ah ha, same number, all today, as expected…_ And paused, thumb hovering over the emergency call button that came standard with most phones as his nostrils breathed in the vinegar-less air. _Tad here is_ obviously _not Mr. In-Charge, but it's not Tad's voice I heard threatening Gideon when I first woke up, and yet I smell the presence of not but a single ram. He must have set up a conference call, or he could have remote access to this very phone, maybe even monitoring it. I suppose it depends on how paranoid I am._ Nick then rolled his eyes back in a mute guffaw and snapped the phone shut, flicking his wrist to toss it under one of the shelves. _I'll call the sheriff on a secure line after I can ensure that my fellow hostages are, at least, alive. I am a cop, after all, and a fox to boot; I can handle this before the baddies even figure out what's up._

Sauntering over to the door, Nick stooped momentarily to pick up the baseball bat surely used to beat him, and then crept into a crouch to listen in on the hallway. _Alright… time to save some lovely ladies,_ ear to the door as he slowly, cautiously turned the handle to peek out. The connecting hallway felt large for the fox, which considering he was aiming for stealth, found it fit well to his advantage. It was well insulated, and had a charming wood-lined finish from floor to ceiling, the wallpapered walls boasting a single clipboard next to each door. Glancing about, Nick figured this was an indoor walkway behind the storefront which gave Tad access to what looked like two identical storerooms, _Two rooms, three hostages… Would they risk holding Judy in the storefront in the middle of the day?_ Nick skulked over to that other door with the utmost care in his step and breath until he could put his ear to it. It was mostly silent, save for soft, discomforted, and half-conscious feminine groans, as well as a faint shifting of fabric on wool mixed with a one-sided conversation already in progress.

"Ya'know," said a gruff voice, which Nick immediately recognized as that flower-vending ram he saw on Friday, most likely still missing a chunk from his horn and ear on the same side, "You should consider yourself lucky that you got _me_ and not my cousin. He's, uhh… you could say he's something of a 'black sheep', even though his wool's kinda whitish; yeah."

Nick pressed his face to the floor, peering beneath the door to spot what he could of the occupants. As best he could figure from limited information, a pair of dark toes painted sparkly purple dangled from an oversized chair, and in between them and Nick were the heels of some cloven hooves. _He's chatting with her… another rookie mistake, but maybe I can play this to my advantage…_

"Tad is… how do I put this… it's not that he _hates_ you foxes or even chompers in general, far from it, but he was a bit _too_ eager to volunteer, if ya' catch my drift. Auntie always said he was a weird one, and D-… _Digger_ \- that's Mr. Graves, _Digger_ Graves, he's callin' the shots but you didn't hear it from _me_ \- said that he had to watch your boyfriend, instead. Lemme tell ya', Tad weren't too happy 'bout that and things got a bit heated between him and the boss; he even said 'Don't judge me, at least I'm not a _killer_ '. Can you believe it? Sometimes I wonder, because you know those _thwacks_ you heard? Yeah, tha's Tad lettin' off steam, but believe you me it's better than what he wanted to do to _you_ , bein' so out of it as y'are."

A frown followed the cold splashing down Nick's back, stealing a glance over his shoulder at the room he left and gripped the bat a little tighter, _Maybe I should go do the world a favor… But first things, first. You just keep rambling, Dent, so I can creep up and give_ you _a thwack; how's that sound?_ Nick cracked open the door degree by excruciating degree, waiting for a horrific squeak to give him away.

"But you have nothing to worry about with _me,_ li'l missy, I keep to ewes, and ya'know, sometimes I like to mix it up with other prey, keep things fresh. Tha's not to say I wouldn't _ever_ , with one of you," assured Dent, blissfully unaware of an impending concussion slipping through the barely ajar door behind him. "I don't have anything personal against chompers - heck, I love otters, they're just so sweet, like little swimming bunnies - but I can't help get nervous around things with sharp teeth, _especially_ shifties. Tha's why I'm not letting you out of my sight, y'see, not that I'm assuming you _would_ if you could; I'm sure you're a _very_ nice individual generally speaking, but you understand where I'm coming from here."

To the fox's great relief, the hinges remained mute in his entry. _I should hit him across the head for a number of reasons…_ thought Nick, and held the bat at his shoulder, padded paws gliding across the floor without a single sound.

"Now, your boyfriend, he's the type of fox that I'm a bit befuddled on. I will be one-hundred percent honest, I don't like him much, maybe I would if I knew him personally, but I don't see that happening; know him personally, I mean. I'm sure there're plenty of mammals that _do_ \- like that Ms. Judy Hopps, for example, she's a swell lady, cute as can be - but I'm wary that he's not only a fox, but a cop. In my line of work, both of those things don't play well for me. Obviously, as a cop, he and I don't mix because I do what I gotta do to get by, and that sometimes means breakin' the law; it's jus' how it is," he said, and scratched at his cheek. "Why, just the other day, when he came by my flower cart he was articulate and respectable - quite an upstanding fox, if I may say so, even got you some nice daisies, very thoughtful - but still, he managed to get away with a free bouquet, which I wasn't _too_ upset about, because I knew it wouldn't take him long to figure out what I was up to. And as a _shifty_ \- I jus' want to put it out there that I _will_ do business with raccoons, weasels, otters, and small cats, even foxes, nothing personal against any single individual or species - but shifties are… well, trust is a big thing in my line of work, and if I can't trust my-"

Nick brought the baseball bat down on the ram's head as hard as he could and certainly got his attention, but since Dent was crowned in gnarled horns, it meant his skull was as sturdy as a helmet. Slowly, when he realized what all was up, the ram stood to his full height and turned about to glare, hooves curling into tight fists as a fierce bleat rattled around in his clenched jaw.

" _Heh_ …" chuckled the fox in an apologetic grin, "That _usually_ works…"

Dent's eyes narrowed when he recognized who struck him, and his nostrils flared with anger… until he grunted in confusion, the harshly knitted brow loosening and arching to glance down at Esther's painted toes tapping between his knees. With a snap of the kickboxer's leg, Dent crumpled in an unholy shriek of male agony, watery eyes retreating up into his armor-plated cranium. After the fox shook off his empathic discomfort, he heaved the bat in a wide arch across the now nearer snout of the ram, who reeled where he knelt before collapsing in a weak groan when a second full-body swing bruised his face symmetrically. Both foxes waited with tense expectation for him to remain quiet.

"Blue?" whispered a nearly delirious Esther, to which Nick leapt forward and pulled the sack from her head, her nostrils flaring to catch his scent (along with fresh air) and looked on the verge of hysterical sobbing, "Oh my goodness, I thought… I thought…!"

Gentle paws pulled off the blindfold as he hushed her with coos and smiles, "Get a hold of yourself, Cherries, we're not out the woods yet," and leaned in to bite off the zip-ties binding her to the chair, "It's a good thing they didn't tie up your legs, or else I'd've been in a _heap_ of trouble."

"I just reacted, I didn't think about it," she finally pieced together, still audibly shaken, "I heard the _bonk_ , and then the grunting, and then I heard _you_ and I just figured, 'Maybe he was close enough to kick', and I found his knees but I knew I couldn't get the momentum to take _those_ out, so…"

"Yeah, it was pretty crazy," he grinned, "Alright, here we go," and slipped an arm under her legs with the other around her shoulders to lift up and out of the chair. The vixen held his neck for support as he cautiously walked around the ram and nearer the door.

"I can't help but feel I'm a little out of my depth here, Blue…"

"Kinda fun, yeah?"

She hesitated, and then chuckled nervously in a manner reminiscent of her brother, "Okay, maybe a _little_. So what _happened_ last night? I remember I was upset at you, and then I forgave you, and then Judy was on the ground, and then _you_ were on the ground…"

"A sniper with long-ranged tranq darts," he explained to conclude her memory, "Probably hidden away in the tree line or a neighboring farm. They plucked off Judy first, otherwise she would have tackled you for as low a profile as possible before I even hit dirt, but still, I wasn't some dawdling doofus so whoever took us out knew _how_ to do it."

"Is this the kind of thing you and Judy deal with everyday…?"

"Well… yes, but not this _exactly_ , it's a variety of things," he smirked, taking great care to point Esther's feet to the floor and aid her in standing, "Alrighty, you get your wits about you with slow, deep breaths while I hogtie this cretin."

The vixen wavered but stood upright, pushing her one loose bang back to cycle the air from her lungs as instructed, toes and heels anchoring into the ground with a centering posture, "And calm… Calm…"

After a quick sniff of the sack used for Esther, Nick hummed in thought, _Spiked with vinegar, same as mine, and I'm a lucky fox indeed that she had the wherewithal to attack with this thing on_. Similarly to Tad, Dent was gagged and lashed up with his hooves behind his back, and looking quite uncomfortable because. _There, that should do it,_ and Nick clapped his paws to finish.

"Thank you for saving me, Blue, and for shutting him up," Esther said, and looked about expectantly, ears flicking with the turn of her head, "Where _are_ we, anyway?"

"By my keen detective work, we're in the storage rooms of Tad Wooler's pawn shop," he explained, "I won't bore you with how I reached that conclusion, because we have a much _more_ pressing issue hovering over us…"

She shivered, "I'll say. Tad Wooler was such a _creep_ back in high school… He _really_ liked pred girls, or 'chompers'," sneered the vixen, glaring at Dent, "I _thought_ all that stopped after he got caught peeping."

"A peeping tom, you say?" Nick considered, and ushered her over to the door at a crouch, holding up a finger for silence as his ears scanned the hallway, _Still no response… I don't like this, not one bit…_ and then lead the way out and along the wall.

"Claimed he was 'birdwatching'," she whispered, "Why is that important, aside from being a sleazeball?"

"Because I think we're in more danger than either of us realize," he whispered back, "We need to find Tad's bedroom."

"Eww… whatever for?"

"If we are exceptionally lucky, to prove me wrong."

With each step they crept, Nick felt his danger sense rising to peak levels, which ironically relaxed his pace and eventually didn't bother to sneak. He ignored the bewildered glances from the vixen following him as they traversed the indoor stairs up from the first-floor business into the overhead apartment, and found the door locked. Not missing a beat, Nick held out his palm, "Bobby pin, please."

"Oh!" Esther said, and hastily removed the remaining pin from behind her ear (thus letting both bangs hang freely at her cheeks) and readily handed it over. "By the way," she asked, waiting for the fox to pick the lock, "What _did_ you say to Judy after I pinned my bangs back last night? Curiously speaking."

He hummed to himself, eyes narrowing as he worked the jagged bend of metal into the handle-lock and fiddled it about, until it popped free without too much exertion, "I told her to 'Ask me how I was going to get those bobby pins out' of your hair. I didn't plan on using one as a lockpick, but here we are," he smiled and shrugged to a red-eared Esther, quite casually slipping the pin into his shirt's breast pocket with a wink while opening the door, "Just in case."

"And we're not sneaking anymore because…?" she asked, though still keeping close to him.

"No need; he likely left _long_ before we ever got here," the fox said plainly, conversationally, glancing around a living room fairly similar to Gideon's own bachelor pad a few blocks down, with its share of familial mementos, personality-defining details of a sheep growing up in Bunnyburrow as an amateur photographer and birdwatcher, standard furnishings of television, coffee table, shelves, and a couch, and while not impeccably clean it was tidy enough to entertain guests.

"Who's this 'he', exactly?" asked Esther, "Is it the so-called 'Digger Graves' my captor so freely identified?"

"I'm sure the name stands the fur up on the nape of your neck."

"Of course it does," she admitted, and though already okayed to talk normally still spoke in a hushed tone, "It's only suspiciously similar to one of the names that's been on the ZPD's 'Most Wanted' list the longest, granted, not at the _top_ … but it can't really be _him_ , can it?"

"That's what we're here to figure out," said Nick, stopping at a door that was certainly not the closet, pantry, or bathroom, and set his jaw to brace his palm beneath the handle with Esther nearly pressed to his back and shoulders. Perhaps it was his partnership with Judy or his time on the force, but he kept one arm behind him in a manner protective of her as he prepared himself to open the door, and only then doing so with great caution.

"But why would the Gr-," she stopped, and then continued in a harsh whisper, " _Gravedigger_ ", before speaking normally, hoping against hope, "want anything to do with a ram like Tad Wooler? One's a canine and the other's a sheep; one's an elite assassin in the city and the other's a creepy pawn shop owner from the country. The only thing they have in common is that they both live in modern times. I doubt Tad's even still doing _half_ the stuff he used to?"

"My dear Cherries," the fox said grimly, glancing up at photo-covered walls and a sensible yet unmade bed, bookshelf, closet door, a desk on one wall, and a table immediately beneath the open window, upon which sat a very expensive looking camera visibly connected to a nearby computer and printer, "Tad never _stopped_ , he just developed methods that wouldn't get him _caught_." In a placidity that superbly masked his overwhelming disgust, Nick glanced at a collection of imagery that discriminated not for age, gender, situation, or species - so long as they were a predator - and then ushered a nauseous Esther away from the door, "I'm only going to be in there for a minute or so, so you stand watch _out here_ , okay?"

" _Why_ do you need to go in _there_?" she accused in undue, but inadvertent revulsion of the fox.

"Because I need to see what Graves saw when he looked through that window. Neither this ram nor this room was chosen at random, I'm quite sure of it," Nick said in his best official but empathic tone of voice, "As soon as you said that Tad was a peeping tom, was caught before, and yet even to this day gave you a persisting case of the creeps, it hinted to me that he kept on peeping, and I daresay found a means to increase his creep-factor.

"Here's the thing: observation at a distance is _the_ strong commonality between a sniper and a peeper, except the latter can get away with it for longer and from farther away than the former. This bedroom almost certainly has direct line-of-sight with Preds' Corner and its nearby farms, so it would be the best, _quickest_ place to scope out a sniping position. If I can figure out where _he_ is, then we can rescue Judy and get Gideon out of his crosshairs." To further answer her incredulous gasps, and closing the bedroom door enough that she would stop glancing in expectation that something was poised to jump out of it, he continued, "Now that I know _who_ we're dealing with, I can say for certain that our beloved bunny is _not_ in this house-"

Esther, now that the door was closed and she had a chance to take a step back, breathed deep with his palms together as bubbling hysteria strained her composure, "How do we even know she and Giddy are still _alive_?"

"Remember what we talked about last night? We said that Finnick called to warn us that my and Gideon's face was on the darknet, and due to the timing it's more likely than not a hit job by…?"

"Magnus," she about snapped, " _And?_ "

"I heard Graves _threaten_ Gideon with our wellbeing," Nick explained, gesturing between the two of them, "No mention of Judy, by the way, _very_ telling. Now, a job like this is _so_ outside of his purview as an uncatchable, cold-blooded solo act that even _entertaining_ the notion - not to mention working with rank amateurs _surely_ cobbled together last-minute - puts his reputation on the line for _any_ future clients, which for someone like him is his entire source of income. However, what this tells me is that Magnus needs Gideon alive _long enough_ for a specific task; I'm thinking the pie-eating contest (which means there must have been a backup supply of the stuff in case things went south…). Anyway, if Magnus found a way to get the Gravedigger to do a job he otherwise wouldn't in a million years, then…?"

"Then he wouldn't do anything to harm Judy or Giddy, because Magnus must have some kind of leverage on him!" Esther concluded after a building swell of excitement and relief… that drained when her ears went pale, "Oh gosh, we have to call Giddy, he has to know we're okay!"

" _No_ ," he said sternly, and before her eyes had the chance to shift color, "Right now, he's being watched like a hawk by someone who will _not_ hesitate to intervene, so he's safest when Graves _thinks_ that he can still use us as leverage." His paws, gentle as cotton, reached up to cup her cheeks so that their eyes locked, and said the most encouraging thing he could think to say, "Cherries, you need to have faith that he's strong enough to handle this."

Esther's bottom lip quivered, eyes trembled, ears pinned back as she gripped Nick's wrists, and slowly regained herself. "You're right. You're right, I just… I just got him _back_ , Blue, and I don't want to lose him again," and rubbed Nick's forearms a bit before dropping both paws behind her with a succinct clearing of the throat, "It does make one wonder, doesn't it, that if Magnus really _can_ pressure someone like the Gravedigger…"

Nick smirked and gripped her shoulder, before speaking casually, "Then we can take solace in knowing that because he _is_ using such a dangerous ace up his sleeve, he's likely on the ropes and run out of otherwise reasonable options, so all it'll take is _one_ slip-up and he'll hang himself on his own petard," and turned to enter the vile room, "His leverage is he probably knows the Gravedigger's _true_ identity. Anonymity is to assassination as jam is to toast, after all."

"Blue."

"Hmm?"

"' _True_ identity'? The _ZPD_ hasn't even _claimed_ to know who he is," she challenged, daring a half-smirk.

He quirked a brow over his shoulder, and then paid her a half-smirk in turn before pivoting back around to lean on the doorframe, "Can't get anything past you, can I. I sort-of-work with a wolf pack at the ZPD, the alpha of which whom all other wolf alphas across the city defer to, Captain Alphonse Kela. As his 'Alpha's Omega', I'm privy to some juicy info from time-to-time, and since I heard something that directly relates to but does not otherwise aid us in our current pickle, I don't mind telling it and feel no guilt in keeping it secret until now. The Gravedigger _is_ a wolf, and he _has_ been identified, if falsely."

Esther stared hard, ears forward and head canted, "How so?"

Nick scratched his neck before answering with a hesitant groan, "There's _another_ wolf alpha to whom all the others defer but in a different way, a sort of polar opposite of Kela, calls himself the 'Captain of the _Secret_ Police' - not many outside the wolf community or Zootopian underworld have heard of him - and it was thought that the Gravedigger was part of _his_ pack. The only problem with this theory is that the suspected wolf is long dead." The fox then smirked in full and shrugged to the stunned vixen, "You go ahead and chew on that for a minute while I take a gander out this sicko's window," and slipped in through the door.

"Great." Esther threw her arms in the air and spun on her heel to then cross them over her chest, "A literal _ghost sniper_ , that's just _great_."

The room stank of air freshener, a sinus-numbing sanitation neither natural nor inviting, even with the open window to air it all out. Nick kept his eyes on the table and its accompanying chair so to withstand the photographs mocking his peripheral vision. He refrained from touching anything in that room, but still needed a wolf's-eye-view of the landscape, and so squatted in Tad's chair, _Memo to self: burn feet when this is all over._ Grunting in thought, the fox studied what buildings were visible from that window, paws at his knees and fingers tapping to some unnamed rhythm. _Let's see… The woods would leave far too many variables, same with those farms. The families are on vacation, but a tight-knit community like this isn't going to let things go unattended for long. He'll need to hole up somewhere in the town itself, a building with at least two stories… non-residential… Magnus might have some pull with the bunnies down there, so inhabitancy may or may not be an issue, per se… easy or manageable escape route… Hold the phone, what have we here?_

Still wary to touch _anything_ in that room, Nick spun the office chair towards the computer to grab a few tissues from a box near the keyboard, and with his paws sufficiently covered, picked up a sizeable pair of binoculars hanging on a nearby hook, and leveled them for a looksee. _Well, bless my sneaky little heart, 'The Prince's Guard', right on schedule_ , grinned the fox when he spotted the pitching tents outside of Preds' Corner. _The fastest mobilizing force in Zootopia. With them scouring the area on their wild goose chase, Ol' Graves won't have a snowball's chance of slipping out undetected. Admittedly, my initial plan of getting them to annoy the visitors of Knotash until the Felix came over to smooth things out was something of a long shot, but I think I like this better._

Not keen to dally a second longer than need be, Nick hopped from the chair, kept his head down, and marched out of the room. "I need a hot shower for about a week or so…" he said immediately, nearly running into Esther after sealing it all up behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's note:**

Howdy y'all!

Thank you for sticking with me for so long. I know my story isn't everyone's cup of tea, not only _not_ being WildeHopps but pairing Nick and Judy up with their own, respective love interests... but you've kept reading and reviewing this whole time. So, thank you. As fair warning, I develop the relationship between Nick and Esther in this chapter, though not as its crux.

That said, enjoy the chapter!

* * *

In modern Zootopian vernacular, a member of any prey species (in the specific example of Tad Wooler, a sheep) with a certain degree of fascination for members of any predator species might be categorized by other mammals as a "predo", and at times ostracized to varying degrees reflective of their fascination (to date, there is no reciprocal word of "preyo" that has since caught on). The word "predo" carries with it specific negative connotations and activities beyond working with or in close association that some might designate as "unwholesome" or "just plain wrong", whether or not there is a mutual attraction between consenting adult mammals; the term, originally used to demean, has since adapted into a neutral descriptor. Communities of "predos" have recently formed, upholding their lifestyle proudly and openly, even aligning themselves with the former Mayor Lionheart's "Mammal Inclusion Initiative" (whether this was his intent or not is uncommented on one way or the other). It's worth mentioning that even in the "predo" community, snapping salacious pictures of predators without their knowledge - much less their consent - is unanimously agreed upon as "unwholesome" and "just plain wrong".

While Nick keeps his personal thoughts on the relationships between others close to the vest (unless a snappy snippet of snark is apt), how an individual treats their fellow mammals is often and freely critiqued via equally snappy snippets of snark, whether vocal and/or pantomimed. In the case of Tad Wooler's _boudoir_ and its vantage point of Preds' Corner, Nick only just finished his reconnaissance by exiting the room as though it were overflowing with cobwebs, as well as a voiced intent to engage in lengthy self-cleansing. After much ado, the fox directed a closely adjacent Esther at a swift pace, "Good news, bad news. Bad news first?"

"Any news, at this point," answered Esther.

"We'll go in order of dramatic effect, then. Bad news: I couldn't pin-point which building he's hunkered in."

"Oh… okay, I guess the good news is we're _not_ going to confront the Gravedigger, but let the sheriff's office know that he's in Preds' Corner so they can go after him themselves?"

"Cheeky. Additionally, the good news is that the cavalry I called for arrived and has him pinned down," grinned the fox, taking the stairs quickly but carefully.

" _Cavalry_? What 'cavalry'?"

"A swathe of misguided souls looking for someone who's either dead or in hiding. Not that I'm one to demean mammals passionate about their hobby (depending on their "hobby", of course), but there is no group in the city that can gather in a place faster than those in search of the Missing Prince," Nick said while checking in on Tad, _Yep, still out cold._

"You know what, I'm not even going to ask how you got them out here in under an hour, because I've seen them pop up at the weirdest times in the weirdest places, and I'm still trying to wrap my brain around a _dead wolf_ holding us hostage in some _sicko's_ house," she sighed. Esther leaned in over the fox's shoulder to peer through the dark storage room and the pile of wool showing only the barest signs of unconscious life. "How _did_ you take him out? He's no little lamb, and you must've been blindfolded same as me, not to mention that awful, pungent sack they certainly put over your head."

With a casual smugness manifesting as best it did in a shrug and a smirk, Nick gingerly gestured her out from the doorway, "He didn't secure my head-sack after showing proof-of-life to Gideon over the phone, which let me shake it off and get the drop on Bad Tad by introducing my skull to his nose with impunity."

"While _blindfolded_. Is that something Judy taught you?"

"Not as such," he dismissed with an easy smile, letting his hips sway in a strut on his way to open the other door and check in on a still knocked-out Dent, "Once I got him close enough, making noises with his mouth, and I was facing in a north-ish direction, I could head butt him with enough accuracy for government work."

"'Facing north-ish', _indeed…_ "

Nick paused to arch both eyebrows over his shoulder to study her, "It's no great feat, for a fox."

Despite her best efforts, Esther harrumphed.

"You _don't_ see north?" and closed the door of the storage room.

"Seems that me and Pa are the only foxes that _can't…_ " she grumbled, "I mean… not nearly as well as Giddy can, and Ma hardly even needs to look for it, but it always made me green with envy how they or my other fox friends could just… _point_ where north was, or did the littlest corrections when _I_ tried."

He pivoted, arms shrugging but tail embracing her legs as a gesture of indirect, if patronizing, consolation, "Don't feel _too_ bad, Finnick can't see north very well, either, so I always figured it was a red fox kind of thing. As for Judy, she doesn't know about it, because I know she'll want to hone it through what _she_ calls 'training for personal betterment' but what _I_ call 'cruel and unusual punishment for kicks'."

A low, contemplative hum passed between them, and then Nick's fur spiked on his nape as that devilishly sly grin of hers once more spanned from ear-to-ear, but when his tail attempted a retreat hers caught it swifter still. "Naughty naughty, Blue, keeping secrets again," she cooed, tracing the length of his tail with a sweep of hers, "but rest assured, I'll keep this little tidbit _safe_ and _sound_ ," and tapped a single finger under his chin.

"Madam," frowned a furrowed fox amidst mild gesticulations, "I did not tell you that so _you_ could _blackmail_ me, I told you that so _I_ could _gloat_."

Both foxes remembered their current location and situation by jumping nearly their height into the air at a harsh knock echoing through the house. They froze and huddled, backs against the wall, Esther tucking in behind Nick's arm as their ears spun to pinpoint the sound, and their eyes a quick escape. "Hey Tad, are you in there?" called a voice from beyond the storefront, staying their respective breaths at the consideration that, maybe, more were involved in this party of ne'er-do-wells than previously assumed.

Nick glanced back to Esther and nodded towards the end of the hallway opposite the stairs, for there he spotted another door, and judging by the adjacent broom showing clear signs of dirt staining its bristles, lead outside. Esther nodded in response and closely followed as they skulked towards the conclusion of their autonomous rescue. The voice spoke again, this time staying their footfall, "It's Deputy Catmull; we got a call about suspicious activity, and I'm here to check it out. Are you home?"

"Gabe!" whispered Esther, eyes brighter as she gripped Nick's arm, "Deputy Gabe Catmull, his younger brother Bobby is a friend of Judy's from Woodlands."

"Do you trust him?" asked Nick in equal whisper, "This isn't exactly the best context to assume good intentions from anyone, _especially_ deputies that neither of us called for."

"We can trust him, Blue; his family's only a few farms down from ours, really nice folk, even though his mom is something of a snoop. And he was probably called by a neighbor, I mean come on, it's not like _all_ of Bunnyburrow is in on this thing, right?"

His eyes locked directly onto hers, even turning around to do so, and enunciated each word, "Do _you_ trust _him_?"

Esther didn't answer immediately, gaze not daring to avert until her face set resolutely, "I trust him enough, yes."

"Works for me," Nick immediately answered, and guided her towards the door leading to the storefront as Deputy Catmull knocked for a second time. They kept a low profile gliding along the floor, only he reaching up to unlock their passage behind the counter of Tad's Antiquities & Pawn Shop, and then peeking out at the midday silhouette of a tall cat in a broad-brimmed hat on the other side of the shade-drawn door. Nick and Esther scampered along, ignoring the tidy shelves and clean glass cases housing the more attractive wares of a pawn shop owner, some with a price tag and others for display only. Once more, Nick held out his arm to the vixen behind him, but to pause her so he could study the shadow's body language.

"So he's safe, then?" she asked, eyebrow and ear quirking to Nick's direction.

"I trust your trust in him, Cherries," grinned Nick, and reached to turn the deadbolt of the door.

" _Finally_. What kept you?" Deputy Catmull asked, shadowy ear-shapes flicking to attention and leaning over to peek in through the offered crack. He did not yet bother to remove his sunglasses but instead tilted the brim of his hat as he considered Nick with a suspicious angle of his brow. "Sir," he said, the casual manner of speech from only a sentence prior no longer present, as evidenced by the squaring of his shoulders and the actions of an arm still blocked from view by the door, "are you the 'suspicious activity' I was called about?"

"Deputy Catmull," Nick said quietly, succinctly, and professionally, putting on his best face to command the exchange, "I'm Officer Nick Wilde of the ZPD, and it's a good thing you're here," he explained with an urgent ushering.

The puma did not move, save to lean in and loom his admittedly intimidating physique, perhaps even roll a faint rumble about in his throat while his eyes narrowed behind the shades, "If _you're_ Nick Wilde, then _I'm-_ "

"For crying out loud, Gabe, get in here!" Esther insisted, grabbing the door in one paw to open it far enough that she could yank the deputy's shirt collar from over Nick's shoulder. Both males scrambled to keep their footing as the larger tripped over the smaller, the female stepping out of the way to close (and lock) the door. Gabe finished his impromptu entry by falling atop Nick and losing his eyewear. "We don't have time for you two to play _alphas_ ," she scolded.

"You just suck the fun out of everything…" came a wheeze from under the uniformed chest.

"… _Very_ surprised. Esther?" said Gabe, propping himself up off the ground (and the fox) to squint in her general direction, and then clapping to grab what were now evidently his spectacles with transition lenses relinquishing their outdoor opacity. He stood and brushed himself off, adjusting his glasses and fixing his hat, "What're _you_ doing here?"

"Long story short, Judy, Nick, and I were kidnapped last night - no, early this morning, before dawn - and brought here."

"'Nick'… so he _is_ Officer Wilde?" asked the cougar, and knelt down to help the squashed city cop to his feet and even brushing him off some, "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know you were in town; figured you for some hooligan sneaking about, trying to use your good name as a cover."

 _Heavy sort of guy…_ "Think nothing of it," coughed Nick, managing to get his feet under him again, _I guess there's something to be said for the taste of celebrity, 'eh?_

"And what's this about getting kidnapped?"

The foxes exchanged a wary glance. To bring up the toxic whipped cream, even if the report _were_ currently filed in the sheriff's office, could cause far more trouble than it solved if Deputy Catmull decided to take it upon himself to intervene; a risky endeavor with Gideon still in the Gravedigger's crosshairs. _But we have plenty of incriminating evidence to a very real and obvious crime, don't we,_ thought Nick, keeping his professionalism balanced with a reasonable concern for personal well-being, "It's hard to say, exactly," he said with a quick adjust of his tie and glimpse to Esther, who deferred to his lead with a "nodding" double flick of the ears and glancing up to Gabe while her snout remained down. "When I came to, I managed to escape my restraints and subdue Tad Wooler. Lucky for me, the altercation didn't alert his accomplice, on whom I managed to sneak up behind and get the drop on with Esther's help." He then looked significantly to the vixen.

"I think Tad wanted to…" she gripped both her arms and gnawed her bottom lip, "Nothing happened, not _yet_ , but I hate to think what _would_ have if Nick hadn't found me when he did. They're in the storage rooms where we were being held."

Catmull's brow furrowed and jaw set, a deep inhale puffing out his chest as his thumbs hooked his utility belt in a forced calm. It seemed to Nick that a part of the puma, as much as he tried to deny it, suspected such a thing was not improbable. After a moment's thought, he nodded and glanced to the door behind the counter, "Alright, let's have a looksee," and shifted a paw to his stun-gun with a click of its holding strap on his way to the back. Quietly, he checked on each ram as Nick did before him, Dent first, and gave a sidelong glance at the visible swelling on either side of his face with the baseball bat lying nearby.

"Self-defense," assured Nick.

"Necessary force," added Esther.

"I'll bet," said Gabe soberly, kneeling beside the horned ungulate and snapping his fingers, but he did not so much as stir the unfriendly sort from his concussed state, "You really did a number on him, didn't you. Who is he?"

"'Dent Wooler', to the best of my knowledge, already in the city's system as a drug-dealer and smuggler. Who'd've thought he'd follow me all the way out here?"

"What's his relation to Tad?"

"Cousin, so far as we know," Nick continued, and then tossed a thumb over his shoulder, "Tad's in the other storage room. Bring your cuffs."

The light flicked on and the pile of wool from before finally stirred. "Dang it, Tad," Gabe muttered under his breath, his shoulders heavy as he looked at the bound-and-gagged ram blinking at the overhead light, blood dried on his bruised nostrils, "You said you stopped all that after gettin' caught peeping the _first_ time."

The ram grunted in his delirium, and eyes shot open when he recognized the bespectacled deputy, and writhed about as he glanced upside-down from a disappointed Gabe, to an observant Nick, to a repulsed Esther standing a bit behind said Nick.

"Swore on the horns your grandpappy, rest his soul; 'Never again', you said," and sighed heavier than before as he rubbed under his hat and pulled out the handcuffs, "I held you to it, Tad, we all did, but _kidnapping_? Never in a hundred years did I think you'd stoop so low…"

Tad bleated and groaned through his gag as the cuffs secured around his wrists, and when Gabe freed up his mouth, the ram was eager to snitch. "The Gravedigger!" he immediately yelled, "It was the Gravedigger, _he_ made me do it, him and Dent! _I_ didn't want to, but they… they _forced_ me to! You gotta _believe_ me, Gabe, you know I'm not that ram anymore!"

"Snakes alive!" scowled Catmull, standing and adjusting his hat with a different kind of disappointment, "I can't… Really, the _Gravedigger_? Next you'll tell me King Richard's come back to dance us a jig."

"All the same," prompted Nick with an attention-grabbing tap of his knuckles on the puma's arm, "This seems like more than a two-mammal operation, since we've not seen Judy yet. Now, I haven't _heard_ anyone else in the house, but I saw a staircase leading up-"

"N-Nothing's up there!"

"'Nothing', _huh_?" Gabe couldn't help but wonder at the sheep's interruption, and repositioned his glasses, "I'll go take a look. Officer Wilde, can I trust you to keep an eye on Ms. Grey and… _this_ guy?" he asked, and removed the pepper spray from his belt to offer it to his fellow law enforcement.

"'To protect and serve'," quipped Nick, deftly handling the small can (quite glad that it wasn't "fox repellent" or any other predator-specific brand of repellent that was really just _marginally_ different intensities of pepper spray), and looked deliberately at the prone sheep not bothering to get up or roll over, but shrinking as small as he could. After the deputy left, ascended the steps, and entered the unlocked door with hardly a hindrance, Nick pulled out the bobby pin from his shirt pocket at a crest-fallen, trembling sheep. "Yeah, we know what's up there," he said simply, trying his best not to smirk (and failing) as he approached to a safe spraying distance, keeping the can in plain view, "So, you met the Gravedigger face-to-face, did you?"

The oval pupils shrunk but eyes widened, neck still craned to keep Nick in his field of vision. His shallow breath elongated while retaining telltale nervousness. And then after a calculative silence, he was caught between a sneer and a smirk, "Oh yeah, and he _hates_ you," said Tad, drawing out the syllable of "hate" with every bit of emphasis he could while pointing a single knuckled finger at the fox.

 _He got desperate quick,_ noticed Nick, and exchanged a glance with Esther, a readily recognizable and agreeable facial expression that every fox should know: Let me do the talking. "I never met the guy, which for me is saying something," replied Nick, and spun the pepper spray between his nimble fingers, "Does he have something against my being in Captain Kela's pack, or…?"

Tad grunted and shook his head, " _Nuh-uh_ , ya' shifty fox, you ain't getting _anything_ from me… except what _I_ really think about you," he sneered his crooked-tooth sneer, and then leered at Esther, "And _you,_ too. I have a special folder in my room _all_ for _you_."

Esther's fur stood on end, and she opened her mouth to respond but stopped when Nick held up a ceasing paw, and gave her another glance. She calmed, and let the fox do his work.

"Such a wasted day…" Tad mocked his lament, "If _I_ was keeping an eye on you-"

"Yes, your cousin Dent was _very_ liberal with that information," Nick interrupted, but as if it were _so_ obvious that pointing it out was a waste of his time, "Honestly; the guy wouldn't shut up about this whole scam. As it is, he already let slip the Gravedigger's _real_ name," grinned the fox.

The ram bit back a bleat, his eyes darted, but then he grimaced, "Yeah _right_ , we didn't even _get_ his name. D'you think I'm stupid enough to tell a deputy that the 'Gravedigger made me do it' if I knew his real name? And Dent's as thick-skulled as they come; I bet _he_ doesn't even know his name, either." Nick's smirk confused him until he realized that he said far more than he intended to, but after a venomous glare he gave a smirk of his own with his trump card. "D'you think your brother is such a _saint_?" he suddenly spat out at Esther, "Bet you didn't know about his little _call girl_ , did you?"

The vixen frowned a stony frown, and then looked to Nick for his cue… so he took a half-step to the side with a permitting gesture. Both paws braced her hips and weight shifted to one leg, she regarded the attempted barb with a similar boredom that her time, too, was wasted by anything Tad had to reveal on the subject, "A 'call girl', you say?"

"A young raccoon. She came by a few months ago, late at night, right up to his door, went in, and I _never_ saw her leave. And here's the best part," Tad swiftly continued, once more pointing his knuckled fingers, "She can't have been much more than _fifteen_."

Nick arched a severe brow at his cousin's half-sister, but Esther leaned forward with her paws on her knees in her most condescending stance, speaking slowly and deliberately, "She was actually a run-away from the city, Mr. Wooler, wanted to drop out of school and leave everything behind after some classmates thought it'd be a swell idea to 'punish' her for being a predator. She was seventeen, by the way, and it was during the pred-scare, so quite a bit more than a 'few months'. As for the night in question, Gideon called her father, fed her, and kept an eye on her until he drove in from the city to pick her up. I hear she's recovering from her trauma and went on to graduate high school without any further hiccups.

"You see, my 'saint' of a brother came to _me_ for any legal advice on how to deal with such a unique situation," she grinned, and stood upright again, paws once more on her hips, "Any _other_ unlawful surveillance you want to confess to, Mr. Wooler?"

Nick would have applauded if there weren't a criminal they were plying for information while the deputy was out of the room, but instead his paws folded behind his back and he widened his eyes in an enlightened, "Oh… I _see_."

This garnered the vixen's attention, and his ears swiveled back with a smug grin, so she touched her mouth with the tips of some choice fingers, " _Oh!_ Oh my…"

"Mm _hmm_ ," agreed Nick. A favorite tactic of his (which took some time to teach Judy the finer masteries of) was the subtle art of implication of a shared secret, which in their current circumstances, amounted to Nick figuring something out that Esther didn't yet know, but all Esther needed to do to make Tad think she _did_ know was follow Nick's cues to fill in the gaps, thus allowing the ram to squirm in the belief that they could - as he always feared - read him like an open book. "You know, I couldn't quite figure out _why_ Tad had it out for Gideon until now, convincing him to host the pie-eating contest as he did," he said to Esther, " _I_ thought it started with the bakery opening up at the end of the street, right?"

"But why would a prey of Mr. Wooler's proclivities _not_ want a predator in the neighborhood?" she challenged conversationally.

Nick tapped his chin once while holding his elbow, "So then I thought to myself, 'Well, it must _certainly_ stem from when he spotted a fox in a bunny's house', since Tad was the one that picked up the boulders Judy and Bo dug out of the ground, he'd have the chance to spot Gideon helping out Bonnie in her kitchen and generally making nice with the rest of the Hopps family, right?"

"Mr. Wooler certainly _likes_ predators as much as he _hates_ them, _but_ …" she once more argued, "The Hoppses' choice of house guest doesn't really affect a certain disgruntled ram _personally,_ now does it?"

"Indeed it does not, and such a deep-seated enmity could _only_ be something _personal_ ," reasoned the fox, "But a nice-maker like Gideon would _never_ dare do _anything_ that would question the trust Stu and Bonnie Hopps invested in him. _So_ , it begs the question as to what could he _possibly_ do by being a neighborly fox that earned him such hatred?"

Both foxes leaned over and smugly smirked at the prone ram while respectively bracing their knees (his apart and hers together). Tad sealed his lips, though, glancing between the two of them and wishing (oh, _so_ wantonly) that the floor would be generous enough to swallow him whole.

"He's closed up tighter than a clam with stage fright," Esther pointed out.

"Maybe he'll loosen when the urge arises to correct me, I know that usually gets others talking," cooed Nick, "That sweet little raccoon girl slipped right through your knuckled fingers, didn't she, Tad?"

Tad said nothing, not even a muffled bleat.

"You probably didn't know at the time that she was offered up to you on a silver platter," frowned the fox, "A young, lost predator, hundreds of miles from anyone who knew her, wandering around in the middle of the night when everyone else on the street was fast asleep… except for _you_ , since the subjects of your 'bird watching' are most active then, and of course the only fox outside of Preds' Corner at the time would likely be awake, too. Why, I wonder if you directed her to Gideon's bakery yourself, thinking she was someone local but only later figuring out her 'unique situation'."

Tad heaved in a cold sweat, but then his face burned hot as his hooves curled into fists, "…She _never_ even came to my door," he explained through clenched teeth, "We saw each other through a window, and I _knew_ she wasn't from Preds' Corner… I would have recognized her if she were… and then she _took off_ at a sprint. I was so sure I imagined her, at first…" he admitted, "but I knew there was only one other house on the street she'd go to, and that if I followed the tree line I could get to it at the same time she did, even with her head start…" His eyes then drifted off, staring into the ceiling and the sky beyond, "It could have been _perfect_ … but that shifty fox took her from me…"

"Yes, I'm _quite_ sure a predator being the prey and vice versa was _too_ fine an irony to pass up," scoffed Nick, "I'll need to congratulate Gideon on the life he saved the next time I see him," and then stood upright again, to which Esther followed suit. Their ears flicked and took an appropriate step back, the can of pepper spray once more held at the ready as though to keep the ram at bay when heavy, _heavy_ footsteps stomped down the stairs with as much control as Gabe could manage. _Hmm… I don't think Deputy Catmull is the type to fly off the handle… I hope not, anyway, I'd rather not defend this waste of wool against someone who I'm sure likes me, but if I have to…_

The door opened again to drop the room's temperature by several degrees, the cougar ducking his hatted head to step inside (and only then did Nick realize how tall he really was when standing upright) and approach Tad with but a few strides. His tail whisked in obvious agitation as he squatted near the sheep's head. "That's quite a collection you got up there, Tad," he said darkly, "A lot of familiar faces, best I can figure. Pretty sure I saw m'self in there somewhere, I know I saw my mom, and my brother Bobby… And Mrs. Kumamori, our next door neighbor, with her daughter, Tululu…"

"C'mon, _Gabe_ …" whimpered the sheep.

"Don't 'Gabe' me!" he almost yelled as the claws, now unsheathed from his fingertips, retracted again.

Nick spotted that desperate glint in Tad's eye, and glanced between the two of them as his fingers curled carefully around the pepper spray. _Keep your cool, Gabe, don't do this…_ he quietly begged, and by Esther's grip around his arm, assumed she shared his worry.

"But we've been friends for… for _years_ ," pleaded Tad, and then proceeded to ramble, each word digging him a bit deeper under Catmull's guillotine glare, "I mean…your brother Bobby; he's a _naturalist_ , the way he walks around wearing only that armband for his phone. He's practically _asking_ for it, right? It's not like he _can_ ask, being mute, so he needs to say it _somehow_ …"

The cougar's throaty growl was almost audible over his grinding fangs, and the force with which he scrunched his face threatened to break the frame and lenses of his glasses.

"And Tululu-"

"She's _twelve!_ " bellowed Gabe.

" _Gabe_ , hey, buddy," Nick interjected in a fluid approach. He recognized the stance of an angry cat - he'll not soon forget when a savage Manchas chased him and Judy through the Rainforest District - and while the cougar was nowhere near that deep end, he looked about ready to dive in, or whatever amounted to it from a still civilized mammal. With such a severe lack of historical evidence to support the claim, the best scholars concluded that mammals couldn't just _devolve_ because they wanted to or were pushed to the edge by stress, and it wasn't until the pred-scare that it was determined what kind of outside physiological force was _required_ to break through to bloodlust; in that specific case, the concentrated essence a little-known flower growing out in the country used to keep bugs off the produce. _All the same, there are plenty of ways Gabe can hurt our suspect without going prehistoric_ , "Let's take a breath and clear our heads, okay? Now, I _know_ what a scumbucket this guy is, and I wouldn't doubt there are plenty of staircases he could fall down; after all, he _did_ hit me with a baseball bat when I was tied up. _But_ …" he stressed, "But we are officers of the law, and we don't _do_ that, right?"

Deputy Catmull kept his glare locked on Tad, seemingly undecided whether it was worth adhering to-

"Yeah, listen to the shift-" begged Tad, before screaming and rolling about as the sting of pepper spray filled his eyes, nose, and mouth from a casually pointed can in the fox's paw.

" _Oops_ , butterfingers," feigned Nick, "I think the trigger on this is a bit sensitive."

"What I coulda done to you when I had the chance-!" scowled the ram through red, watery eyes, but then screamed again and curled up after the second spray.

" _Darn it_ , I can be a real klutz sometimes," scoffed Nick in mock worry, and held the defensive aerosol can bottom-first towards the marginally cooler cougar, "You should probably take this away from me before I spray myself on accident."

Deputy Catmull grunted, his bristling fur smoothed enough that he could stand and receive the pepper spray to tuck into its belt holster, "Sheriff Longmare is on the way," he finally said soberly.

"Rachel is?" Esther couldn't help herself from saying.

"Seems someone called in your kidnapping while I was out on patrol, but she didn't want it getting out at the risk of causing a panic," he said, and scratched his cheek when he descended from the adrenaline high of broiling ire.

"A ' _panic_ '?" challenged Esther, and then looked to Nick and his sweeping tail to exchange _very_ curious expressions, "You don't suppose…?"

"I do indeed," he replied, and rubbed his chin in thought, "I mean, I _heard_ Dent mention a 'Digger Graves', but it couldn't be…?"

"Yeah," Gabe admitted, somewhat sheepishly, "The Gravedigger's definitely involved."

"I _told_ you!" Tad bragged through pepper-spray-induced sniffs, "I told you, I told you! I. Told. You! The Gravedigger made me do it!"

"Did the Gravedigger make you snap all those pictures pinned to the walls of your room?" snarled the puma, and when the ram didn't answer, he uncurled his lip and divided his attention between the foxes and lifting the criminal to his feet. "Now, I might've missed something she said over the wire… I was a bit distracted… but you two need to come down to the station for a full statement. As for _you_ …" he said, keeping his tone professional this time (if severe) and walked him out of the room, Nick and Esther not _too_ close behind.

"How did Rachel find out about the Gravedigger before coming here?" she discreetly asked of Nick.

"I don't know," he discreetly admitted to Esther.

"Could Giddy…?"

"I'm going to assume that Gideon _isn't_ as up on the ZPD's 'Most Wanted' list as either us or the sheriff's office is, and that 'Graves' _won't_ go bragging about being the most notorious sniper in modern history… verbally, anyway. So… 'no', I don't suppose Gideon called the sheriff's office," the fox decided, "I doubt he even knows who took us, only that he needs to follow orders or we get hurt." He then flinched and frowned, "The poisoned whipped cream! Cherries, do you know what time the contest is at?"

As they followed Deputy Catmull into the storefront, she glanced up at an antique grandfather clock, wistfully ticking away each second, "If that's correct, then it's about… two-and-a-half hours from now, three tops?" And then watched as a worried Nick paced out of immediate sight from the door, quite the different gait than she was used to seeing. "Blue?"

"Maybe it's not important _why_ she knows," he said under his breath, peeking around a shelf to spare furtive glances at a crowd of Bunnyburrow residents accumulating outside, Deputy Catmull ushering a Tad Wooler frantically trying to hide his face from the whispering onlookers. "I need to get to the contest," Nick declared, and drummed his claw tips together.

"Right _now_? What about the Gravedigger, you said he'll be watching everything like a hawk?"

"He's stuck in Preds' Corner, but it's not _his_ eyes I'm worried about," Nick said, "You remember that Judy and I explained how Grav might have a spy network set up all over Bunnyburrow, rabbits with keen ears that can listen in on conversations and report back to him? It's how he knew about our movements yesterday and Saturday. I won't assume they're in every nook-and-cranny, but I won't assume they've cleared out, either. Dumb fox that I was, I told Lanny Wild to bring the Night Howler antidote as a contingency plan - 2AM texts rarely work out well for me - I should've known better than to call in the Lookers _and_ a young adult lion in a covert operation. It'll be like pouring vinegar on baking soda. It'll grab their attention-" and froze as the light of revelation gleamed in his eyes like a flash bang.

Esther leaned in and waved her paw in front of his face, "Ground Control to Blue, you in there?"

He blinked, and then covered his face in both paws with a pained groan.

"Hey," said Gabe, having just appeared while the foxes' attentions were on each other and elsewhere other than their current predicament, "You doing okay, Nick?"

"Hmm? Yeah, I'm okay," he lied, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Been a rough weekend."

"I hear that," agreed the cougar, "Sheriff'll be here in a few minutes, and she'll want to talk with the both of you. By the way, Tad mentioned something about 'not stealing the laptop', also blaming that on Dent. Does that ring a bell to either of you?"

"Oh!" she gasped, "I wonder if that's _my_ laptop… Why would they take it, though?"

"I guess we'll add 'theft' to the growing list," he dryly chuckled, and then was somber once more, "You sure you'll be okay?"

"We'll manage, Gabe, thank you" assured Esther as she rubbed Nick's shoulder, "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"No no, I'm just going to get Dent in the cruiser, and then gather up all the evidence in Tad's bedroom," he grunted, and flicked an ear at the gathering crowd outside, "Boy, this is gonna hit the papers hard," observed the puma, and walked into the back hallway once more.

Nick dragged both palms down his cheeks to stretch them and his eyelids, "And that's _exactly_ what Graves wanted…" he groaned. " _He's_ the one that called the deputy, so that Tad would get caught and causing such a _huge_ ruckus, it'd be child's play to slip away unnoticed…"

"This is all a cover, then?" asked Esther, half in disbelief.

"And it worked _beautifully_. Magnus has or _had_ leverage on the Gravedigger - maybe he used it up by now, I don't know - but enough to get him to kidnap someone at a moment's notice. That doesn't teleport him in from of the city, though, which means he was _already in_ Bunnyburrow as recent as _last night_. I'd bet my tail that there'll be a car crash or barn fire _somewhere_ in the newspapers in the next few days, and _that_ was the Gravedigger's target, the one he must've been setting up for _weeks_ to make it look like an unfortunate accident; no one would ever suspect it until he was _hundreds_ of miles away. But then _this_ happens. What's a shadow to do? Divert the sheriff and her deputies to something even _worse_ , of course."

"Oh my gosh," she gasped, "The worst Bunnyburrow sees is tractors taken out for joyrides, collapsed buildings, or land ownership disputes; well, not too much the third one anymore, but all the same, to find out that someone like Tad Wooler's been operating for… for _decades_? It could very well eclipse the Reunion!"

Nick mulled this over, "No… it'll be kept quiet until _after_ wards," he speculated, "Those bunnies that run the TBR wouldn't let the kidnapping of Memphis King's son stop it twenty years ago, they certainly won't let _this_ dampen their spirits," and perhaps let a bit more disgust slip out than he intended. He kept his head low as a groggy, barely conscious Dent was ushered past by Deputy Catmull, and when he received a nod from Esther, Nick continued. "I need to get to the TBR and _fast_ , but I left my jetpack in my other pants," he fretted, mind racing through hopeless scenarios while gazing out the shop as a second cruiser pulled up, and knew if he was going to do anything, it had to be _now_.

"Why not just _tell_ Rachel what's happening?" whispered Esther, keeping an eye on the mare as she stepped out of the cruiser to get caught up by Gabe while he secured the rams, "At this point, she probably knows more about this than we do."

"Cherries," Nick said succinctly, "There are things going on she doesn't know about, things _I've_ set into motion, and after dealing with Tad, she won't get to the contest in time to stop them, nor will she know how to fix them if she did. I'm… I'm afraid I've mucked up a good deal of this, and Gideon or anyone else near that tent will suffer because of it. It's up to me to make this right."

She was quiet, but not for long, "You sounded like Judy just then. Alright, then let's do this together," smiled Esther.

The thought rolled about in Nick's head, and it only seemed to further muck everything up. _Way to go, Nicky, you really stepped in it this time_ , he chastised. He could escape; there wasn't any doubt in his mind about that, but _What about Judy? What about Gideon? What about Esther? What about Lanny? And you know what, Bo's probably there, too, so what about Bo? And all those bunnies in the pie-eating contest that got dragged into this? That's quite a list of names to be responsible for._ It was a roil of doubts inside him, but what tightened around his lungs and heart the worst of all was the numerous ways he could save his own pelt, and how vehemently he denied every course of action that let even one of those names fall away when he _knew_ he could save them, too. As he watched the brightness outside, it felt like time slowed to an agonizing crawl, like watching a towering wave crest overhead.

The fox took in every detail he could, scouring for _something_ he could use, _someone_ he knew or could convince to drive him to the TBR, no questions asked. But he wasn't in the city with his wealth of back alley contacts and network of information. He didn't even have his _phone_. He was out in the country and the breadth of his connections couldn't span his ear-tips.

It was then that another light of revelation flashed across his eyes like a bolt of electricity. He saw past the store window, the cruisers, the crowd, across the street and through the midday sun, down a dim alleyway to the street just beyond… _Gideon! Why is he driving by… Of course, he must be getting the clean whipped cream from his bakery! He doesn't seem to have noticed anything - except the cruisers, maybe? They tend to stand out - or else he'd be stopping for longer… Now I just need to get to his bakery in time to hide in the back of his van… Well, if Tad with his stubby legs can outrun a sprinting raccoon half his age, then I can get there without too much trouble_. And then the fox grinned a triumphantly sly grin.

"Actually," he suavely said, a literal and figurative one-hundred-eighty-degree pivot from his fretting only a second prior to address Esther, "I need you _here_ to cover for me while I make a mad dash to catch Gideon at his bakery-"

" _What?_ " she had to bite back a yell, the unmistakable agitation churning in her voice, "How do you even know he's _there_ right now, and if he _were_ , do you think I'm just going to stand by and let you run off without me?"

"All I'm doing is some crazy heroics, Cherries, _you_ have the most important, gravitational responsibility of ensuring that laptop gets to Sheriff Longmare and present our case as only _you_ can; it has everything we did on it from last night, which might be why it was swiped," he explained, incapable of reducing his own grin. "Now, I need to move quickly-" and strode towards the back of the shop, but his wrist was snagged in her iron grip.

"Don't you _dare_ leave me, Nicholas Wilde-!" she began, but caught her breath when he tilted her chin to touch their lips in a single kiss. Stunned, Esther's ears flared like scarlet beacons in their full-frontal position, and her grasp on his wrist weakened only to tighten with a vengeance as she made to scowl, ears pinning against her skull (though her eyes did _not_ flash silver, and Nick was watching to be sure). "And just _what_ is that suppose to-!" Esther began again, but he deftly reversed her grip and pulled the vixen into another kiss, the other paw brushing a thumb to her cheek to caress his fingertips along her neck, right behind the ear. When he lifted away she was quite a bit more delirious than the first time, but managed to utter, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that last part…?"

An arm hooked her waist, the other her shoulders and so Nick dipped Esther for a longer kiss to curl the one set of sparkly, purple toes raised in the air. Standing upright, the fox took the vixen by the paw and twirled her about for a one-step waltz, before reeling her in so his chest braced her back, both pairs of arms folded about her abdomen and bosom, and his tail wrapped around her thighs. "Wait for me," whispered Nick, nose grazing the fluff nearest her ear to then slide their cheeks flush.

"Okay," she whispered back. With another nimble spin, he guided her airy motions into an antique chair that was labeled as "SOLD", in which she patiently sat to gather both thoughts and breath after he tucked a single bang behind her ear…

Fox courtships are nothing if not covert mind games and nonchalant teasing to get the _other_ fox to admit attraction first, a very special manner of bantering reserved for the determination of lifelong devotion. They are often noted by the frequency in which some of the fox's associates fail to realize that they were courting at all, and the general perception that they "can't stand each other" - for Nick and Esther, their courtship began _not_ that weekend, but when they first crossed gazes in the ZPD precinct months prior. Courtship, additionally, can manifest in the form of pranks, challenges, misleading flirtation (whether with each other or an outside party), and in the current example, a dance of avoidance as though circling a maypole (one such instance has Nick diving into a broom closet at Judy's suggestion when she heard Esther approaching). Though vehemently denied, close friends of foxes that are not foxes themselves consider these courtships as opportunities to build up as much of a "score" against one another, before ultimately dropping their mutual counts when they are exchanged along with their vows in mateship (should the courtship prove successful).

Esther always wondered what or who _hers_ would result in. She'd wished for "true love" on those crossed stars as a kit, after all, which some might deem as "girlish romanticism", but it was her heart's truest wish all the same. Her parents, along with other mated foxes, would say that a fox's courtship is as a defining moment in their life as any coming-of-age, and the _best_ manifest anecdotes worth bragging about, whether realized in the midst of life-threatening circumstances (more frequent in olden times than the safer, modern society) or revealed in such an exquisitely sly or subtle manner that it makes at least one mammal who witnesses it exclaim, "I should have known!". An example of the latter involves Ruth Savage and Goliath Grey: their courtship began during his rebuilding of a dilapidated shack on the furthest edge of town to become his new house while Ruth wet-nursed an infant Esther, and concluded when the mail carrier brought a letter incorrectly addressed to a "Mrs. Ruth Grey" over a year later, _well_ after the aforementioned kit weaned; and they've been happily mated ever since.

She sought a boyfriend in her teenage years (what Gideon dubbed "The Summer of Suitors", an event Esther looks back on differently than when she experienced it firsthand), but due to how one's over-protective father could overhand most candidates across a field, and one's _very_ traditional mother was hyper-observant about what constitutes a "proper vixen", as well as a personal point of view which some close friends (Judy included) labeled as "high standards" or "picky", Esther devoted herself instead to school and then to work, bouncing from one interest to the next (either romantic or hobby) like a stone skipped across a pond's surface. Before she knew it, years had passed to produce a successful career as a grown vixen, but left that star-crossed wish of a kit unfulfilled. When the days flowed from an empty, unmade bed, to an immaculately tidy office desk, to the "hobby of the month", to the take-out-container-filled trash can of her apartment, and returned to a still empty, unmade bed, Esther resigned herself to the love of her friends, family, and pet parakeet… Until she caught sight of Nick Wilde in his blues and admitted to Judy once and _only_ once, "I never knew I needed a fox in uniform".

After she opened her eyes and realized Nick went to his derring do, Esther began to ponder with a rhythmic clapping on her knees, _Now then, what to tell Rachel…_

As for Nick, he was off at a sprint, body as low to the ground as he could manage while weaving through tall-enough grass after leaving the pawn shop's backdoor. _That must be the first time I've wooed myself_ into _danger. I rather look forward to her next attempt at talking sense into me,_ mused Nick, sparing a lick of his lips and a shake of his body to smooth out the fur for a sleeker sheen. At the fence before the tree line, he nimbly slipped through the wooden construct for the extra cover it provided him from the nearby houses. To the best of his acute awareness, his dash went unnoticed, and so permitted his endeavor for distance, remembering his running drills at the academy, even outpacing the larger mammals (which then incurred arduous extra training from Judy Hopps).

A comfortable balance of functionality and compassion, Judy was never the type to discount one's innate strengths in favor of "appearing civilized" (within reason, of course, it simply wouldn't do to favor natural law over societal law, or vice versa, if the world could be such a better place if both worked in unison). So, the fox was instructed in the use of not only his legs but also his arms, thus utilizing the powerful spring of his spine and grabbing those extra inches with each stride. Running on "all-fours" was, of course, not something done for the entire distance covered - a lifetime of upright motion does not simply _give way_ \- but so long as he timed his pounces to the geography, Nick could gain the burst of speed to, with any luck, arrive at the bakery while Gideon was still loading up after a quick short cut through the trees.

The midday haze weighed on the canopy far overhead, leaking through the gaps of leaves as cooled, individual rays of sunlight. For a streetwise fox like Nick to dive headlong into a forest, one that he'd only once been guided through by a trusted local (and twice stumbled into), was not only foolhardy, but dangerous. The towering trees were all nearly identical to the city-slicker, nothing like the evergreens of his kithood home in Conifer District or the mapped-out Rainforest District, and to be turned around was so easy, so likely that it might as well have been a _certainty_. Lucky for Nick he was a fox, and a fox always has an ace up their sleeve for dangerous, foolhardy situations like running headlong into the unknown, and as a _red_ fox, he had an innate sense of north as his waypoint along with the knowledge that he wasn't delving _too_ far in (and as a kit-at-heart, he still remembered the wilderness survival he and his dad taught himself from out of the Junior Ranger Scouts handbook).

Scurry. Pounce. Scamper.

Scurry. Pounce. Scamper.

It was a primal rhythm of muscle and sinew, blood and breath that kept his pace for those short minutes of running, a flow of endorphins that refreshed the mind better than any triple-shot espresso.

 _What I wouldn't give for a triple-shot espresso right about now_ , heaved Nick, and leaned on an especially twisted root to catch his breath, knowing to inhale through the nose and let it out of the mouth to prevent hyperventilation. He flinched as his tingling whiskers laced his thoughts with a single doubt: whether he had stopped to rest, or whether he had stopped because he was not as alone as he originally thought. _That's probably just someone out on a lunchtime walk,_ he considered, sniffing at the air more intently and pointing his ears in every direction he could manage, _Which I assume mammals do out in the country, as opposed to sensible leisure activities, like napping._

After a quick scan, Nick reoriented himself and continued on his way through the "shortcut", but at a sneakier, still swift pace as the city fox assured himself that he was not the only one in the woods, and it was no coincidence that whoever _they_ were decided to take a stroll at the same time he did. _I don't have time for this_ , he grumbled, and kept low to weave through roots and avoid what his skulker's instincts told him were the least disadvantageous places to be, which gained frequency until there were no good options left…

The glade he burst out into was bright for the seconds it took his nocturnal eyes to adjust, thankfully, his ears and nose "saw" everything he need to, and so silently cursed himself for such a rookie mistake. _Jogging and sleep deprivation are not doing me any favors… I'll need to refrain from both in the future,_ he chastised, realizing the full extent of his folly and dread. While the trees _might_ have provided him extra cover to escape Tad's house, and _maybe_ he could have snuck away without anyone noticing (as he was so adept at doing ever since his career as a hustler), he had to accept that his pursuers _knew_ how to catch a fox, especially when they were in a terrain he was unfamiliar with.

"Mr. Wilde!" said a cordial, long-eared blur (which eventually had the common decency to form into a rabbit).

 _I figured the house was being watched, but I guess they didn't scatter when the deputy rolled around._ "Who's that?" asked the fox through his blinking, and rubbed at his eyes enough to put on a proper face.

"We're from the Burrow Watch," said the rabbit that certainly looked and acted like he was in charge, "It's a good thing we ran into you, we've been searching _everywhere_. Are you alright?"

 _Lie to me some more; say that Judy sent you_ , Nick inwardly scoffed, but feigned gracious relief as his green eyes scanned the rabbits present. Their furs varied in colors and patterns, male and female alike, garbed in no specific theme or uniform except that each had either a stun-pistol or tranq-rifle. What stood out to him, however, were two very important factors: first, this so-called "Burrow Watch" was comprised _entirely_ of rabbits (maybe some hares), despite Bunnyburrow boasting numerous species still lingering about the TBR; second, was the gut feeling he couldn't shake that _no one_ in that well-equipped fluffle was anything he'd describe as "Joe or Jane Bunny" (as is often the case with small town militias) since each and every rabbit stood in their surrounding crescent "at ease". " _Oh,_ thank goodness! I've been lost in these woods all _morning_ ; my friends must be worried _sick_."

The lead rabbit studied the fox carefully. He was well-sized for a bunny, a darker gray in color with cream undertones, definitely middle-aged and showing it in his figure and fur, but was by no means a pushover or laze-about, "You've been missing since O-four-hundred," he formally reported. "We've come to bring you in," there were some setting jaws and knitting brows amongst the lead's entourage before he added, "with as little hassle as possible _._ "

 _These 'simple country folk' aren't buying my spiel any more than I'm buying theirs,_ Nick thought, not that he imagined he would get very far into a conversation with them, _But you can't blame a fox for engaging in some light banter_ , "Then let's cut to the chase, Mister…" and took a half-step back as he shrugged, "I'm sorry, it seems you've got me at a disadvantage?"

Though a no-nonsense face resisted giving out such information, he seemed compelled by some inner principles to grunt his concession out the corner of his thin-lipped mouth, "Mr. Barley. Now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way, would you be kind enough to… cooperate?"

Nick scoffed outwardly this time, but politely, "Mr. Barley, you're going about this all _wrong_. I'm already outnumbered and outgunned, so if you want me to play along with this little charade then _tell_ me to, instead of offering the option to do otherwise," and smirked, shrugging a little wider at another half-step back, "Trust me when I say this, but the last thing _you_ want to do is give _me_ options."

Mr. Barley groaned under his breath, "In that case, come along _quietly_ and you'll be… reunited with your kin in due time, but make this difficult and it'll take _much_ longer. I hope that's clear enough for you."

It was not Nick's first time in such a precarious situation (granted, it was the first time in so strange a place, with this many guns ready to point at him, and not _completely_ his fault) and after the first one or two skirmishes in which he was back-to-back with Judy down a dark alley, she decided it was the best idea in the world to hone Nick's survivability, thus channeling it into something more useful than escaping by the skin of one's teeth (an ideal which Nick still argues ranks amongst the highest in terms of "usefulness"). Ever-so-carefully, the fox played with a thread of this Burrow Watch by inching even further backwards where the ends of the crescent surrounding him closed in; with an impeccable moment of timing, he could disarm that one especially twitchy rabbit with the tranq rifle as it was leveled on him and start enough mischief to flee. _All I need is the right kind of bluff for the job…_ he pondered.

"Well, _that's_ good to hear, we are at a reunion after all, and what a _surprise_ it was to find out how _much_ family I've got out here," said Nick, and earned a hard, questioning stare from the lead bunny, who in turn earned a few unsure glances from his group, "Always wanted friends and loved ones to count on, fellow foxes who've got my back when I need them… who will miss _me_ almost as much as I would miss _them_ , you know?"

Arms crossed severely as long, smoky gray ears thrust forward, "Your _cousins_ , you mean?"

"Who _else_?" Nick spared a lighthearted chuckle, "I mean, I'm sure you already know about the one in care of the sheriff right now, so she's plenty safe, and, of course, there's her brother, so that's the two Greys…" The line artfully dangled, watching as Mr. Barley's eyes narrowed before their gazes locked, and when the rabbit's widened into his furrowed brow. Nick could see the creeping doubt plain as day, _Oh no, was there another fox? Did we perhaps overlook someone? There were only the three, right?_ he inwardly mocked and awaited his cue with another patient half-pace back.

"… _And_?" he asked.

"'And'…?" smiled Nick.

"Who _else_ is there, Mr. Wilde?"

" _Oh_ , yes, of course," gesticulated the fox, putting a paw to his chest with the other sweeping out in a grandiose bow of sorts to place it loosely behind him, and idly swayed his bushy tail; as he hoped would happen, the rabbits at either end of the crescent shifted the slightest bit so that the one with the tranq rifle was right at the edge of his peripheral vision. _And now to ice this cake with just enough fact to seem believable_ , "I've only known her recently, as you can figure, but she's near and dear to my heart all the same; ears are a bit long for so foxy a lady as she, and maybe she's a bit short, but her tail's as fluffy as they come. What _eyes_ she's got to compliment her fur, though… who'd have thought purple and gray worked _so_ well together?"

Mr. Barley's face and ears filled with crimson, like a thermometer against the Savannah Square asphalt, before pinching the bridge of his nose, "I know for a fact that you do _not_ have a cousin fitting that description, Mr. Wilde," he said through a forced calm. It felt like a wind whipping around stones as he tried to avoid saying anything that would ignite his fuse, "If only because I know, for a fact, that there are no _foxes_ fitting that description."

 _Just a teensy bit more, I think…_ "Well, perhaps not my cousin, but as I said, she's near and dear to my heart all the same," and the cherry on top was a single sly wink. All it would take is a single order for every firearm in the vicinity to ready and aim, the cue which Nick anticipated for his arm to swing around, grab the tranq-rifle on his immediate left to wrench it in a pendulous arch, loose a few choice darts, and so begin the pandemonium covering his escape. Poised as a trap, the green eyes watched in suspended excitation as the bubbling _indig_ nation under Mr. Barley's fur… faded after it was redirected on a subordinate that requested his attention.

"What!" barked the leader, turning with a glare before raising an ear at a formal whisper.

The last rush of adrenaline draining from his body was almost tangible to Nick as he, and the entire Watch, waited for the back-and-forth between Mr. Barley and whoever this younger rabbit was to conclude. Of all that the fox's ears could strain to hear, he picked up "…Are you _sure_?", followed by an assertive nod, and then the head of the Watch contemplated. "Alright, Mr. Wilde," said Mr. Barley, sparing a breath to calm himself and gave a gesture to the rabbits behind Nick, who only then realized that he began to sway where he stood - not a single dart was needed to subdue him at that point. They moved up behind him, no guns pointed, rather nudging him in the back with the butt of the rifle, "If you can stay awake, we'll talk about this so-called 'cousin' of yours, and Ms. Hopps's circumstances…"

 _Are you kidding me, they actually bought it!_ fretted Nick, frowning with all his might as he brought his paws up to his chest when urged forward, _Or did they see through the ruse completely?_ It was so simple… rile the leader into giving an order to seize this smart-alecky fox, tensions already running high in a group of action-ready individuals that just spent a morning squatting in an open field, watching a house _just in case_ anyone escaped. He never expected them to actually _believe_ that there was a vixen with Judy's identical colorations (a mental image he was not at all opposed to after hearing of it the night before, despite his teasing, and figured he could rile a few rabbits with the implication that he referenced Judy as a vixen rather than a bunny); a fish that does not take the bait goes uncaught, after all, and when one's plan hinges entirely on an expected reaction, well… Nick's mind raced for a secondary, a tertiary… an _emergency_ plan to escape from this newest worst-case scenario, but all his brain could manage to focus on were the vying concerns of "What was that about Judy's circumstances?" and "What was he so 'positively sure' about?".

The crescent was now a circle of rabbits, gradually tightening around their quarry… until a few long ears began to flick at odd sounds that Nick only then realized were jostling branches, and from those few perceptive rabbits came sharp gasps and hushed muttering. Like dominos, each member of the watch, Mr. Barley included, stared up into the canopy high over the glade to spot a single blackbird perched upon a bough. It seemed that time stopped for each of them as they watched it… and it watched them with a single caw. Nick wasn't too concerned, it wasn't the only bird he saw in those woods, after all, and it wouldn't be the last.

Another blackbird fluttered into view after some eternal seconds to join in perching and watching, and cawing. This had polarized effects on rabbits and fox, the former relaxed and even a bit gracious that there were two instead of one, but the latter was definitely non-plussed. And then _another_ blackbird made it a flock of three, and all mammals on the ground shared in the disconcerted demeanor. They were certainly large, as blackbirds often are; Nick wouldn't know this, but there are horror stories of mice, squirrels, and young rabbits being picked up by large birds and flown into the sky, never to be seen again (this is why tranq-darts and stun-guns are as common implements as hoes or shovels around the carrot farm).

 _Why are so many grown rabbits, armed to the teeth, about ready to faint at the sight of them?_ wondered Nick as the worried fluffle seemed more concerned with huddling up into a defensive formation than ensuring his capture, leaving him ample opportunity for a dash into the trees, _I mean, I know there are whole mythologies based around birds as divine beings or whatever, but c'mon guys, they're birds._ The fox certainly wished he had a fourth or fifth wind in him to take advantage of such a serendipitous outcome, but his adrenaline spikes were finally taking their toll and it was all he could do to stay standing.

That same subordinate adjacent to Mr. Barley then raised his tranq-rifle and took aim, only to have his superior shove the barrel down with an indignation that outshined his recent crimson-faced state, " _Don't_ , you fool, you'll curse us all!" he almost growled. His ears sprung, and he certainly seemed ready to rescind his own reprimand as the air filled with an almost deafening brume of wings and soft cawing; it was standing room only for the blackbirds that day as they surrounded the fluffle (and Nick). And watched.

"Are they crows?" asked one rabbit.

"Are they ravens?" asked another.

"How _many_ are there?" and sounded about ready to count them out.

A gap formed with a flutter as a shadow passed over the lot of them, and so landed a truly monstrous blackbird, ancient and wizened enthroned upon a branch that groaned in protest beneath its weight. Great ebony wings tucked to its sides as if they were a judge's robes to study the frozen fluffle from down its scythe-like beak. These stories Nick _had_ heard of (they boasted their own horror sub-genre, after all) about even _larger_ birds picking up _adult_ mammals, and that was that; more than anything, he wished his legs would obey his commands to run.

" _ **NICK!"**_ it cawed.

The rest joined in an accusatory cacophony.

 _There's a little bit of pee coming out of me right now…_ Nick realized.

"Reapers!" cried one rabbit.

"Psychopomps!" cried another.

"Demons!" cried another still.

Mr. Barley stood between the members of his Watch and the largest blackbird so that they were behind him, and lead them all in making the sign of the four-leafed clover. They were definitely scared, but he - in what Nick could only describe as an oddly brave act - turned his back on the blackbird to face his fellow bunnies… and by the way every ear drooped it seemed they all accepted some terrible knowledge. From the group came two rabbits, one patched with slate and white, the other a burnt caramel in color; they handed off their firearms to Mr. Barley and he embraced them each in turn.

"Take care of Sam for me, okay?" said one singled-out rabbit to the other.

After a misty-eyed nod, "And you'll take care of Andy, if it's me?"

They embraced after agreeing to each other's final wish, and then together approached in solemnity. With an exchanged worry, one spoke up, "I-I am Nic Thistlemore."

To which the second followed, "And I am Nicky Winge."

The blackbird studied them where they stood, and after exchanging more worry, they knelt down, crossed their fingers and held them up at level with their bowed, closed eyes in a long, tense silence.

 _I have no idea what's happening here, and I'm not curious enough to find out_ , the fox decided, finally feeling his legs respond as he crept back to the trees, eyes forward and about at all the birds paying attention to those _not_ him. When he jumped his height into the air with a yelp at the agitated fluttering and cawing immediately behind him, the monstrous blackbird turned on Nick with its inky black gaze to ruffle its feathers into a downy mane, the shoulders of its wings spread as a though to point.

" _ **NICK,"**_ it cawed again.

Nick went pale beneath his fur, gawking up and about as the tribunal announced their sentence on the fox. He faced the rabbits, who hastily accepted their own back into their ranks, but when the fox attempted the same they pointed their firearms to stop him dead in his tracks. No eye was filled with anger or determination this time, but rather pity and mortal fear.

"Okay, truck me off, I'll come quietly, I _swear_ ," begged Nick in compliant, desperate cordiality, crossing his heart with one paw and zipping his lips with the other before holding out both wrists with sparing glances at the birds overhead.

Mr. Barley looked down the barrel of his stun-gun in deep lament to state matter-of-factly, if pained, "I'm sorry, Mr. Wilde, but your fate is already sealed. Move out," he ordered the Watch. Each rabbit in turn lowered their firearm and tried to look Nick in the eyes with such regret whenever he beseeched them, before they hurried off into the woods beneath the border of blackbirds. He was the last to holster his stun-gun and turn… before stopping to half-pivot back, "We'll let your cousins know what happened," nodded in sympathy, and then was gone.

Alone, Nick spun and glanced about for anything he could use, but as it was that entire morning, he had very little to work with in the countryside. Any attempt to sneak or run past the otherwise silent birds was met with cawing and flapping, so, he stood in the middle of the glade and fought the urge to curl up. In one last effort, he cleared his throat and addressed the largest, "Hi, I'm Nick Wilde," he said, and then held up his crossed fingers, if differently than the rabbits did, "I think this is something of a… _misunderstanding_? I'm pretty sure those bunnies are…" _What're they called…_ "followers of the Hexward Tenets, but you see, _I'm_ an…" and thought carefully before finishing that sentence. While it was not learned through _personal_ experience, he knows what happens to suspects that spit in the face of a cop or judge to openly deny the law, and while there was still some part of him that was quite sure these were _just_ birds, he couldn't ignore the lead pit in his stomach, " _I_ come from a _Chronicler_ family, so, maybe there was a _mix up_ in the paperwork… Funnily enough, I was _just_ on my way to see a lion about a thing, but I will let him know I ran into you, and then we can get this whole… ' _fate'_ thing figured out. How's that sound?"

His ears flicked to a soft, distant crunching of leaves and twigs that played on the edge of his hearing for some time now, and as it got nearer he couldn't help but feel as though he'd truly been trapped, and wondered just how many safeguards and contingency plans Magnus Hopps set up to keep him and his fellow foxes (which he, in his heart-of-hearts, included Judy) in check. It was then that he caught the whiff of a smell that froze his blood and sent him running off in the other direction, ignoring the birds. The birds were not so easily ignored as they raised their talons and beaks and wings to block Nick's escape, forcing him back into the center of the glade.

 _Welp, I'm dead, so thoroughly and profoundly dead_ , frowned Nick, chest heaving as he stared off into the dim of the trees to spot a tall figure approaching, knowing that even if he _did_ try to escape, it would be in vain. What he smelled was the signature on his death warrant; the engraving of his epitaph. He smelled a wolf, and he smelled a firearm. _I guess at this point I get to decide if where he shoots me is in the back or not_ , he thought, _Alright, Judy, my bunny-shaped-fox, I might as well put into practice the best lesson you've ever given me_ , and stood tall with a loosening shake of his limbs. He straightened his shirt and his tie and thrust both paws into his pockets to face his 'fate' head-on, as he knew _she_ would.

Into the glade meandered a tall wolf, boasting the old-timey rifle Nick figured he smelled, and a thick, weather-beaten coat. To say he was _old_ was an understatement; from the looks of it, Father Time beat him with a heavy stick, but eventually just gave up trying and let him be. Nick was glad that this wasn't at all what he expected him to look like, but knew better than to assume skill based on appearance (as opposed to _deducing_ skill based on appearance). The blackbirds took wing, individually and then _en mass_ until only a few remained with the largest, which hopped down from branch to branch to land upon an outstretched paw of the lupine, and finding its perch on a sturdy shoulder-pad. A rock served as his own seat, using the butt of the rifle as something of a walking stick with a grunt, and leaned the firearm against his other shoulder.

Nick then released the breath he didn't know he was holding. "The Gravedigger, I presume?" said the fox in strained composure.

The wolf looked at him, and then at his weapon, "It's a rifle, not a shovel," he answered in a deep, gravelly voice, "I'd sooner dig graves with my own paws than with _this_ ; and _have_."

 _He's not the Gravedigger, and has a morbid sense of humor_ , Nick realized, and felt like he could fall back onto the mossy floor of the glade and start singing an amalgam pieced together from Chronicler hymns he knew (or he assumed he knew). The fox ran a paw through the fur on his head and breathed out a long, welcome sigh of relief, taking a moment to sit heavily on the ground, "Alright, so, _who_ are you?"

"I'm Edward Mallupe, kit," he said matter-of-factly, "and I've reason to believe you're Nick Wilde."

" _ **Nick,"**_ cawed the blackbird, and Mallupe reached up to scratch through its plumage.

The fur spiked and matted along Nick's spine, "And you taught them to do that?"

"They're smart birds, but can't give 'em _too_ long a thing to say."

 _There are so many questions right now,_ "Great, you control creepy crows. Ravens?"

"Ravens; raise and train 'em for tracking."

"Fantastic," said Nick as snark filled the gap where terror was washed out by absolution, and to stop his spine from tingling, "Are you hoping to cash in on the bounty? Because I _am_ in something a rush and you don't seem like you're in any great hurry to catch me."

"No, go ahead," said the Grey's nearest next door neighbor, and as Nick contorted to leave he stopped when he heard the rest of that thought, "I'm just here to make sure you're alive."

 _I need to keep moving, but I can't let that hang there,_ grimaced Nick, and turned around again to sit closer to the wolf, "Thank you," he said succinctly, "You'll forgive me if I'm not completely conversational right now, but it's been something of a rough morning. Why, exactly, are you checking up on me?" His ears perked at a thought, "I don't suppose Gideon got a message out, did he?"

" _Hmm_? No, not Gideon," Mallupe dismissed, "Kela called me."

 _Was Alphie keeping an eye on me? Probably did after my face popped up on the darknet,_ "Okay, I'd like to reiterate my query: _why_ are you checking up on me? I've _never_ heard Kela mention you before. Is it because I'm his 'alpha omega'?"

"It's because he _asked_ me to," the wolf patiently explained, "It's the Code, Nick, I do everything in my power to find one of his, as he would if one of _mine_ got taken."

Of course Nick knew of a "Code", or what Kela called "The Law", which was different from "the law", an important distinction that the alpha wolf was keen on balancing, and often took the brunt of the responsibility if they ever conflicted. "Okay, Ed - can I call you 'Ed'? How about 'Eddy'? - look, Eddy, I've only been an honorary wolf for a few months, but one of the few things I've noticed is respect for the hierarchy, so no matter the pack alpha wolves are _always_ spoken of with some degree of reverence… unless spoken about by other… alphas," and folded his paws beneath his nose in thought, a gesture which he then pointed at Mallupe, "I have a question…"

"Aye?"

"There wouldn't happen to be a _third_ alpha in Zootopia which all other wolf alphas defer, is there?"

"Aye."

"Are _you_ that alpha?"

"Tha's _two_ questions, kit, but aye."

Nick cleared his throat and straightened his tie; _A third alpha… this changes everything. I assumed this whole time that the power-balance was between two alpha wolves, but now there's a third?_ "So, you've already established a… a positive relationship, I'd say, with Alphonse Kela, but what're your views on Ferris MacGrim?"

Captain Kela had more than one reason to bring Nick into the pack, and it wasn't only for his Night Howler-sensitive nose. The fox knew how to find just about anyone in the city, had connections that didn't run very high up the skyscraper, but certainly wove deep enough into the underworld to keep an ear to the ground. Yes, while he provided the wolves a quick pass into the hottest, hippest places to dance, he also got the ZPD captain insight on the shadiest dealings. Kela and MacGrim couldn't touch each other, not according to "The Law", not if they wanted to keep the tentative peace for not only wolves, but predators and prey alike; it meant that if the illegal activities of one pack attracted attention from the crime-fighting of the other, whatever was happening was dropped. No arrests, but no violence or continued activity. Just walk away and clean up - one wolf saw it as a game, but the other did not. Kela sought to end it once and for all, even if it meant his career, to finally bring MacGrim to justice… so he enlisted the help of a fox, one he witnessed traversing the darkness of Zootopia and coming out a good cop in the end (despite Nick's insistence on using what Kela called "tricks").

"They're _both_ pups," grunted Mallupe, "But Ferry needs Alphie far more than the other way 'round," he then sighed.

 _No kidding. If Alphie ever stepped down as captain, Ferry_ , and he couldn't help but snicker inwardly, _wouldn't have that perceived protection. Bogo abides Kela's 'Law' if only because he stops MacGrim's crime, even if he doesn't bring anyone in for it._

"Hey, kit, 'sonly fair that I get me a question, now," the aged wolf continued, "Why'd you think _I_ was the Gravedigger?"

The fox blinked, and glanced up and down as though to imply that there was little anyone else for him to assume a rifle-toting wolf to be, "An honest mistake on my part, it won't happen again."

"That doesn't answer my question, kit," he said pointedly, "The Gravedigger stays in the city."

 _No, I suppose Alphie wouldn't divulge important police info, even to another alpha,_ "Well, for saving my life, I owe you that much," and earned a querying arch of the wolf's brow, "The Gravedigger is locked down in Preds' Corner, unable to quietly slip away on account of a _slew_ of, shall we say, _fanatical_ guests."

"I wondered why those Lookers came back here…" and scratched behind an ear, "I don't s'pose _you_ had something to do with that, 'eh kit?" and chuckled a dry, hoarse laugh, "You're clever, I'll give you that, but also good; don't see that too often."

"You know, Kela says something similar, but with a few more words thrown in," and shrugged in good humor, "Probably best to keep me out of the alpha seat, though."

Mallupe reached a claw inside his ear to scratch around, "Maybe not of a wolf pack, no, but you're alpha material all the same," he said offhandedly.

Nick hooded his eyes and arched his brow, "That's very… _kind_ of you to say, Eddy, but foxes _aren't_ alphas, that's for big mammals that don't mind drawing attention to themselves."

" _Every_ species has an alpha, kit, they just don't act the same, is all."

"What about bunnies?"

"Even bunnies."

"Well, I'm probably best friends with one, in that case," he grinned at the amusement of such a thought, "But I'm sure if there _were_ a fox alpha, I would've met them by now; it's kind of my thing."

"Not always," shrugged the wolf, "Fox alphas are as tricky as they come."

 _Uh huh… maybe he's just an old coot after all…_ "Listen, I really _do_ need to hightail it over to Gideon, so if you could do me a favor and let Kela know that Esther and I are safe, and that the Gravedigger's trapped, that'd be _super_ ," and gave a double thumbs-up during his departure to scamper, pounce, and scurry out of the glade, unaware of the wolf's casual wave of farewell. ' _Fox alpha' my perfectly-shaped tail, might as well wear a neon sign saying 'Look at me, I'm important' and cause all kinds of trouble. Still, thanks to Mallupe I managed to fake my own death without trying. And what a death to fake!_ mused the fox as he traversed the woods once more.

 _And now, for the easy part of sneaking in and hiding…_ Nick thought as he came out on the other side of the trees, and remained hidden at the far end of the empty lot behind Gideon's bakery, _Maybe I'll help myself to a pie or four. I think I earned it._

* * *

The hard part, as Nick should've seen coming, was calming the hysterical sack of bottled-up fear and dread of Gideon Grey. _I guess I should cut him a_ little _slack, as far as he's concerned I just came back from the dead_. "Bangs, 'shush' means I need you to be quiet," he whispered kindly, but hugged his bawling cousin all the same, rubbing up and down his back in soothing attempts.

Gideon sniffed and huffed through clenched jaws.

"Okay, okay, pull yourself together, ya' big baby, there's still _lots_ to do and not much time to do it in, so we need to work fast."

The unintelligible sniffing and huffing continued.

"Yes yes yes, Esther's _fine_ ; she's with the sheriff right now, safe and sound. We also found her laptop with all that hard work from last night, so it's been handed over to the proper authorities."

A few sobs added to the incoherence as Gideon refused to let go.

"No, couldn't find Judy yet, I'm afraid, but let's be honest here, she's the safest of us all right now. We'll get her as soon as we take care of this nasty Night Howler business, but more than likely, _she'll_ come to _us_."

Gideon heaved and mumbled as he buried his face into the other fox's shoulder.

"You did _great_ , Bangs," assured Nick, and patted the back of his head, "Your sister still has all of her glittery toes and I only got some slight bruising; speaking of, it'd mean the world to me if you could loosen your clutches a bit."

The baker's fingers dug into the more athletic back as he shook, quietly whimpering.

" _Or not_ , whatever works," he casually said through the cringing, "By the way, I don't suppose you grabbed my phone, did you?"

The hysteria finished its descent to normal (if stuttered) breathing.

"Excellent, thank you," and tugged up Gideon's shirts enough to pull out the mobile device tucked into the back of his pants, having chanced to spot it earlier, and wiped it on the damp grass before slipping it into his own pocket.

And then Gideon sat back on his ankles, wiping his eyes off on his forearms, palms, knuckles, it really didn't matter where, so long as he could see that Nick was okay.

"Well, _obviously_ I hid in the back of your van when you were at your bakery, and helped myself to a pie because I was famished," Nick explained in sublime nonchalance, "Really, though, I could've danced around you and Bo and you wouldn't have noticed," he teased. "Right, so, you about done blubbering?"

With a sniff and a nod and a recovered breath, Gideon answered, "Excuse me for fearing your _death_ , Stretch…"

" _Tut tut_ , cousin mine, I'll have my demise feared by _no one_ except myself… and quite possibly my mother, because I can't very well stop her." He took a moment to examine the stouter fox's attire with a thoughtful hum, "Hand over your undershirt," he instructed and began undoing his tie, buttons, and sleeves to shrug off his borrowed flannel. Nick licked his palms and began fussing up his already disheveled fur, but to such an extent that it looked truly unkempt, even going so far as to make his cheeks and chin seem like he went _several_ weeks without proper grooming, and then riled the fur atop his head until it fell forward and gave the illusion of his own set of Grey family bangs (however short they might be). After giving his tail the same shabby treatment, Nick shook from it to the top of his head and back again until each strand of fur was out of place but in such a way that flowed in an aesthetically appealing chaos.

Gideon didn't bother to argue or question the request and shrugged off his own shirts, tossing the lighter, tighter t-shirt he wore to Nick (specifically, over his head) before pulling the thicker, looser one back on and buttoning it up. Nick slipped it on and, as expected, it hung off his frame but added to his overall shabby appearance. Standing, he inspected the tie with its mustard stain and spat directly on it, using the white t-shirt to vigorously rub and scrub the tie clean, thus giving the undershirt a characteristic, isolated discoloring. As a final touch, his borrowed flannel was tied around the waist and all-in-all, by the way he held himself and a vacant look in his eyes, he looked a completely different fox. And after a quick self-check sniff, "Yep, I even _smell_ like a Grey."

"So, uhh… what's all this, then?" whispered Gideon, suddenly standing upright as his collar was popped and the necktie secured in a tailor's knot (no doubt the curious "quick-escape" knot demonstrated the night before) before flattened again. He stiffened when his shirt was tucked in for him before straightening the waistline of his jeans as well as his belt. Finally, Nick unrolled and rerolled Gideon's sleeves to make them more deliberate, more uniform.

"Keeping up appearances," he said in his normal voice, "You have an apron, I assume?"

"Well, _duh_ , I have an apron."

"Good, put it on ASAP, you need to look professional, first and foremost. As for me, I am a completely _different_ estranged cousin you never knew you had," grinned Nick, and stood back in a slouch to drop the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses over his eyes, "You can still me 'Stretch', o'course," he said in a much more laid-back, country drawl than his suave, playfully pretentious, city tone of earlier, "And I'm here for the pie-eatin' contest.

"By the way," he leaned in, returning to the aforementioned city-tone a moment, "I'm pretty sure that was Lanny's voice earlier…?"

"Yeah, he's in the other 'dummy tent'," whispered Gideon, and chucked a thumb over his shoulder, "Got your message and ev'rything, but I don't think we'll need that Night Howler antidote stuff," he grinned.

"I _heard_ ," Nick responded in approval and clapped his cousin's back, "You'll have to explain what you did, but later, right now I need to speak with Lanny."

Gideon nodded and turned to crawl back under the wall of the tent to the sunnier, yellower one assigned to him and his pie-eating contest. There stood Bo, setting down his toolbox to cant his head and examine the baker, before snapping his fingers and smiling, "Oh, did you duck in there to change into a clean set of clothes?" he guessed, but seemed implicative of something else.

"In a manner of speaking," answered Gideon, and clapped his paws together, "Thanks for keepin' an eye on the place while I did that thing I did."

"You betcha," said the bunny with a thumbs-up, and stepped closer, "I also fixed that loose shelf in your van," but then added discreetly, "It's okay, I won't tell anyone you had a good cry." To the fox's flustered grunt Bo gripped his shoulder assuredly with a flick of his ears, "I heard ya' crying, Gid, and your eyes are all puffy, but it's _o-kay_ , I don't think any less of you. If _I_ had to pretend to poison a bunch of folk while _my_ family was held hostage, I'd probably need a moment, too," and clapped the frowning, furrowed fox's back… before pulling it away immediately, "Oh, sorry! Sorry, I forgot you don't like anyone touching your… you know what, I'm gonna go do something… _useful_ , like…"

"Jus' shut up and go see if anyone's out front yet," smirked Gideon, and covered the rabbit's face with his paw to push him away.

"On it!"

"Heyo!" came a voice from the back flap; leaning over from the side was an unkempt fox in an undershirt, wrinkled slacks, and a flannel shirt tied about his waist. Even though Gideon saw this disguise assembled not a minute prior, he had to admit if he didn't know it was Nick behind those glow-in-the-dark sunglasses, he might've figured some farm-fox wandered in join the festivities.

Bo turned on a heel with a wiggle of his nose, before pointing, "Hey hey, dude, you can't come back here," scolded the rabbit, and then crossed his arms, "Employees only."

"Wha-?" he gasped, stepping in with a lazy swagger, "Ah, c'mon, I'm _family_ , ain't that count for somethin'? How's it, cous', the pie-eatin' about ready?"

"Yeah, sure, 'cous'," scoffed Bo, and narrowed his eyes as his arms crossed tighter, "Well, if you're here for the contest, you can wait _out front_ ," and pointed with an assertive nod.

"There ain't no harm in li'l ol' me hangin' about."

"Like I said, 'employees only', and we've got important 'employee stuff' to take care of. Right, Gid?"

The baker grabbed up his apron and looped his head through to tie the straps about his chest and waist, "Naw, he can stay. Stretch here's already an 'employee'," he chuckled.

Nick loosed a chuckle as well, but a bit higher to play up the part.

Bo glared at Gideon before grabbing his shoulder and turning him about into a huddle so that both their backs were to 'Stretch', "Excuse us a minute," he informed. "You can't be _serious_ ," the rabbit continued in a harsh whisper for the baker's benefit. "How many more mammals are we gonna bring into this, Gid? Lanny has the antidote, I get that, but I don't trust this so called 'cousin'; in fact, I think he's the one that swiped my sunglasses. And what're you smiling about?"

"I'd say the disguise was a success," Nick interjected in his normal, smug voice, popping in on Bo's other side with the sunglasses perched on his brow, talking to Gideon while referencing Bo, "He still harbored suspicion, though… Ah well, I guess Punch here isn't quite the dumb bunny-"

"Gloves, you're okay!" exclaimed Bo, grabbing and lifting Nick by the waist until he not only cleared the ground, but was well over the earthen rabbit's extended ears, and looking quite unhindered in doing so. Nick, dissimilarly, gripped the rabbit's arms and braced his feet around the chiseled chest to afford himself some kind of stability, his tail sufficiently fluffed about as far as it could manage.

"Whoa, altitude change…" the startled fox commented, "I think my nose is bleeding…"

Gideon clapped a paw over his mouth and held his shaking belly in stifled laughter.

Nick's feet found the temporary tiled floor again as Bo held his arms, eyes and face brighter than the noonday sun when he asked, "Is Judy with you?"

Any laughter quickly petered out as the foxes exchanged a frown over the brown bunny's frame. Nick cleared his throat and politely batted at the paws holding him so that he could fold his own and speak as carefully as he could. "Punch…" he began, green eyes scanning the almost vibrating rabbit, "Judy is…" and then cleared his throat again to fold his paws _behind_ him, instead, "She's…"

"Yea-huh?"

"Judy…"

"Yeah?"

"Is… _not_ with me."

"Oh…" and drooped, only to inflate anew (if a little less than before), "Where _is_ she at?"

"I…" Nick sighed, "don't know. I'm sorry, Punch, but she wasn't held in the same place Esther and I was."

The tent seemed darker as Bo's face drained of its hope, though still smiling, if sadly, ears fallen behind his shoulders. "Okay…" he numbly said with his bravest face, "I'm glad _you_ got out, at least, and I guess you must've gotten Esther out, too, so I'm also glad for that. It've been great if you saved Judy, too, but if she wasn't there, she wasn't there…"

"Listen," tried Nick, but the rabbit was deaf to the world as he departed past a worried Gideon, and disappeared behind the tent wall. Sighing again, the taller fox rubbed the back of his head, "You know, sometimes I forget that I'm not the only one in the world who cares about Judy."

"He'll be alright," Gideon said soberly as he adjusted his tie, and then pulled it out from behind his apron to give the quick-escape knot a tug, mood lifting at how quickly it popped free, "Jus' needs a moment to himself, is all," and then grimaced in concentration when he tried to retie it… before pouting at his cousin.

With an affirming grunt, Nick nodded towards the opposite tent wall, "Lanny's behind there, then?" the taller fox pointed out, reaching over in nonchalance to fix the tie in a snap.

"Yep," smiled Gideon, and tucked the neckwear back under his apron while turning towards the counter and his awaiting baked goods.

"I suppose he'd have to be, there aren't many places to hide a lion in here, and by process of elim-" but stopped, realized he didn't need to explain it to _himself_ , and instead headed in the direction he nodded.

"Hey Stretch."

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for saving Essy."

"She hardly _needed_ any help from me, but I was in the neighborhood…"

"And you'll save Judy, too, right?"

Nick thought a moment, paws folded behind him, "Bangs, do you remember that really old story of Mr. and Mrs. Fox, when he was a noble rogue or a roguish noble, and she was the fair maiden kept inside the walls of a usurper king?"

"Tha's, like, the _oldest_ story of Mr. and Mrs. Fox, ain't it? It's Essy's fav'rite, so tha's the one which was always read to us as kits," he recalled.

"Mr. Fox rallies his merry band to save her and the kingdom… It's very romantic, but I once heard a different ending, one where despite all his cunning and bravery, luck and camaraderie, he winds up under the sword of the usurper king in the final clash, and it's _Mrs. Fox_ who arrives in the nick of time to save _him_ , and so are together triumphant," he added with just a touch of dramatic flair.

"So… you _weren't_ jus' being cute when you said Judy was gonna come to _us_ , then."

Nick glanced solemnly over his shoulder, "I have no clues, no leads to follow… I don't even know where to _start_ looking, not that I have the freedom or authority to do so…" but then he smiled, "However, I _do_ have faith in our beloved Judy Hopps, and I know that's all she needs to do impossible things."


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:  
**

Welcome back! Thank you again for your continued reading. As in the last chapter, I would like to inform those of you that have made this far in my story that I will be devleoping Bo Briar's character a bit this time around, and that includes his relationship with Judy.

That said, enjoy!

* * *

Nick paused at the end of the tent, a flick of his ears telling him that Gideon was starting the mobile oven to begin warming up the pies for the contest. With such a dramatic, heroic end to their conversation, as he surely perceived it was, he knew that turning away from this music to face, this bullet to bite, was not an option. So, he squatted near the yellow-striped wall to bat it, "Lanny, it's Nick. Are you decent?"

"Let me slip something on first, I just got out of the shower," came the response.

Upon entering, he spotted the tawny cat "decently" dressed in the same blue jeans from yesterday, but this time wearing a "MEWS" concert t-shirt that did not boast the looseness of the teal scrubs of his profession. Lanny was sprawled on his back and staring up at the tent ceiling before craning his neck in address, and then lifted a mitt of a paw to wave in greeting before letting it flop back down again. Quite visibly, he was the epitome of a poor soul "bored-to-death".

"Hel _lo_ , _nurse_ ," chimed Nick with appropriate flair, and walked about so that the lion needn't twist himself so much, "Thanks for coming out on such short notice, it really could save lives."

"It's not like I had anything better to do," Lanny said not unkindly, but then grunted in apology as he glanced at Nick, "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that."

Nick shrugged unconvincingly and drew out a high, uncertain groan, "I _might've_. You've been stuck in this tent all morning because _I_ called you out here…"

"You couldn't know the Lookers would show up, though; they're worse than telemarketers," he dryly chuckled and seemed to decompress atop the grassy ground, "I guess I should be grateful that this tent was empty at all."

The fox shuffled his feet, " _About_ that… kudos, by the way, on dodging them, it had my stomach in knots _all_ the way here; like you said, they're something of a bane to the existence of lions in your age bracket, and it would've caused _such_ a big to do. Who needs a mess like that, am I right? Smart thinking ducking in here."

"Thanks, I guess… I might be wrong about this, but it sounds like you're getting to _some kind_ of point?"

Nick walked over and sat on the ground at the lion's side, tapping his thumbs introspectively before pivoting in his seat to recline against the nurse's chest, elbow resting on muscle built from summers spent as a dockworker (no doubt to pay his way through nursing school), and Nick knew that if _Bo_ could lift him overhead without trying, Lanny could likely launch him into low orbit. _I've dealt with furry semi-trucks before… not many that I feel bad about putting in a tight squeeze, though…_ "Here's the thing, Lanny, I'm going to be _completely_ honest with you for the next few minutes, one predator - one _'Wild_ ' to another," and at the quirking eyebrow, "I'm _kind of_ the reason that the Lookers are in Bunnyburrow right now."

The lion erected himself up onto his elbows, staring hard at Nick. "What…?"

Pivoting to face him fully, Nick gesticulated his side of the issue, "I didn't do it to be _mean_ or anything, I just… had a crazy idea, which I usually run with… Okay, not _usually_ , I used to when I was younger, but the point _is_ , I called up a good friend of mine who knew his way around Internet forum firewalls, and had him spread a convincing rumor that the Missing Prince was spotted in Preds' Corner on account of the TBR-"

" _Why?_ Why would you _do_ that?" he fretted.

" _Because_ , I was trying to get Felix Lapis down here by bugging all those bunnies from Knotash with a bunch of harmless fanatics," he huffed, "I hoped by doing so I could get a face-to-face meeting and maybe let him know that Hexward's being used for evil; alternatively, I wanted to get a read on him and see how far up the corruption went," he grimaced and then flicked his wrist, "It made sense last night, _okay_? It was late, I was tired, and I just found out that I got my cousin - someone I knew for a whole _two days_ , mind you - on someone's kill list, and I… I wanted to make things right. So… I'm sorry I got you into this… which I guess is my _actual_ point…"

Lanny gnawed his bottom lip and ran a paw through his cropped mane as he took some time to decide how he should feel about it all…

Not a fan of awkward silences that directly involved him, Nick endeavored to span the gap with some thread-pulling. "Why're you so afraid of the Prince's Guard, anyway? They're not _dangerous_ , and _you're_ not Simon King. The worst they'll do is ask if you've seen someone you've never met, and hand you a Missing Mammals leaflet; answer honestly - or _not_ , I personally like to see their reactions - and they'll go away," expounded the fox as he reclaimed some of his easy air awaiting Lanny's rebuttal… only to have the lion completely turn his back and roll over onto his side with his head propped up on an elbow. _And there's that nerve I'm tap dancing on_ , frowned Nick, _It's so much easier when I don't have to answer for my actions._ He stood up and stepped closer, restraining his snark for a bit, "What's the matter?"

There were sounds of grass being pulled from the dirt before an answer came, "It… it's a lion thing. I really shouldn't say."

"That bad, huh?" Nick acquiesced, and casually folded both arms to lean on Lanny as though he were a chest-high wall, "I get it; I usually claim 'fox things' when I don't have any other way to explain it," and then reached down to clap the lion's torso before making to leave.

"Hey Nick…" he said, and when he felt the lanky form lean casually on his back once more, he glanced up in budding curiosity, "You said you got Gideon on someone's 'kill list'. Is that a _euphemism_ , or…?"

"I _wish_ ," he grumbled, "It was a dual effort, he and I; we practically spat in the face of the psychopath orchestrating this whole debacle. In our defense, we didn't know it was him at the time or that we were spitting in his face, but it's true, 'Nick Wilde' and 'Gideon Grey' are officially targets. So, knowing who the most likely suspect is, I reached out to the highest mortal power I could think of with the greatest and soonest effect, figuring if it had even less than one percent chance of working, it was at least worth trying."

The lion's tail whisked to bat at Nick's ankles as its owner slowly rolled over and looked up with his paws folded on his stomach, chest rising with a deep, solemn, decisive breath while the fox sat on his waist as though on the edge of a bed of a moody teenager. "About the Missing Prince… I heard from my uncle that Tycho King, being the younger brother to Memphis, arranged the kidnapping so that _he'd_ be the next in line for the family fortune, but… Simon was never found, and without _proof_ that he's dead…"

 _Can't say I've never heard that theory before, as one of the stronger conspiracies out there since Memphis waned in health only a few years after Simon disappeared,_ Nick considered idly.

"I guess… it always felt like those Lookers were out to get me… and I'm not the only lion thinking that, you know…" He tried to smirk, "I… must sound pretty paranoid, huh?"

The fox did smirk, " _Well_ , does paranoia keep you alive? Yes, yes it does, and four out of five scientists agree, with the fifth disappearing under mysterious circumstances." The need for discretion was still paramount, so Lanny bit back a snorting chuckle and held his mouth as he shook in the stifled merriment. _There, now that's the kind of reaction to which I can leave a room in good conscience_ , grinned Nick, "But these days, you're a nautical ton of grade-A prime lion, so handling a few bothersome interlopers should be a piece of cake," and thinking back to a wager his Dad made (and immediately regretted) while his _own_ record remained untarnished, the fox issued a parting ultimatum, "I'll tell you what, if I ever meet that Simon King, I'll kiss him square on the mouth!"

Only just managing to calm himself as he spotted the fox slipping off and sauntering his way to the exit, Lanny lifted himself up onto an elbow once more, "Before you go, I want to ask you something. _Will_ Judy be okay?"

Nick huffed through his nostrils and smiled sadly, "Judy's location and circumstances are unknown, except that she is likely held captive by a group of psychopaths and her only known advantage is that they won't kill her _immediately_ ," he said, and then grunted with curious retrospection, "Goodness, it really _must_ be Monday…"

Lanny blinked, thought on it and then chuckled, "I'll take that as a 'Yes'. Being my patient and all, I'll need to check up on her eventually, you know."

 _You're alright, Lanny Wild_ , grinned Nick, "On that note, Judy _would_ think it rude of me to not offer you a beverage before I take my leave, wouldn't she?"

"Well, I'd be a poor guest to refuse such an offer, but maybe I can have some more pies with that whipped cream I keep hearing about?" he beamed, "The non-toxic stuff, I mean."

"Careful, Lanny, only the _first_ pie is free - that's how he hooks you - but I'll see what I can scrounge up," and disappeared under the tent wall.

Once more amidst the atmosphere of a temporary kitchen, Nick breathed in the rich aroma of warming berry-medley pies with freshly buttered crusts. For a single moment, he forgot all about Night Howler, and Magnus, and the Gravedigger… and floated on over to Gideon, who was scooping, swirling dollops of whipped cream and allocating as many as he could comfortably fit onto each tray. Jovially, the taller fox slung an arm about his cousin's neck to gaze in wonder and sniff in amazement as he reached out to personally inspect a perfectly crowned pie, only to recoil when a wooden spoon struck his knuckles.

"No touchie."

"Ow," he cringed and scowled, rubbing the back of his paw, eyes then hooded as he noticed the whipped-cream covered spatula alongside the wooden spoon, _He had it set aside specifically for my deterrence…_ "Touché."

"No, 'touchie'; I know what I said," smirked Gideon, and then spoke lower as he nodded him in until their noses nearly bumped over the very tip of the curled whipped cream, "This is the _bad_ stuff."

"But… it smells so _good_?" marveled Nick.

"That's because I used chicken oil as a base," grinned the baker, "We get it from the Mallupes ev'ry now-'n'-then. Bunnies won't put it _anywhere_ near their mouths, but it smells jus' fine to us preds; that way even if Magnus sends some of his goons to check it out, it'll seem like I'm jus' a dumb ol' fox that don't know what bunnies will or won't eat."

"And you're okay with that?"

"They want me _dead_ , Stretch, I don't care what they think."

Nick stood up, arms crossed, and blinked, eyebrows arched high over his head as he nodded, "Bangs, that has to be one of the slyest things I've ever had the pleasure to hear about," and then shared in the grin. As Gideon erected he bashfully rubbed the back of his head and held his hip while receiving a firm clap on the back. "I wonder why I even bothered to scurry over here in the first place, since both you and Lanny have things squarely handled," he teased.

"I'm glad you did, though," said Gideon, "Jus' knowin' you and Essy're okay is such a weight off me, I can't begin to describe it. And… I guess it was right of you to come by and smooth things over with Lanny, considering _you_ got the Lookers down here… even if it _were_ to help me… _us_ , I mean…" he softly chuckled, and then admitted, "I might've overheard some of what you were tellin' Nurse Wild. Not all of it, though; I ain't a snoop."

"Oh, before I forget," added Nick, leaning on the table with care and speaking as discreetly as possible (and to not get too close to the dangerously delicious whipped cream), "I think you'll be interested to know about our mutual associate, Tad Wooler."

The baker's ears pointed and eyebrows arched with such severity, they might've flung right off his face, "Don't tell that was _you_ that brought in the deputies!" he gawked, with reciprocal discretion.

"I'm afraid so," he admitted, and then rolled the statement around in his head, "In a manner of speaking, anyway. Esther and I were kidnapped by none other than the ram who convinced _you_ to participate in the TBR in the first place, but that's not why the deputy and sheriff were there today… not _officially,_ I imagine."

"Egad, it _must_ be bad to bring Rachel out on a day like today…" he huffed, and set down his spatula to lean on the counter as well, "So, what _was_ it that Tad was up to?"

Nick carefully studied Gideon's expression as he pondered a quick moment, "Before I answer, I need to clarify something. What do you remember about 'Graves', what did you _glean_ from your phone call?"

A long, slow breath filtered through puckered lips as dough-kneading fingers drummed along the counter's edge in rapidity. "Only that the Gravedigger's the nastiest sniper in the world, and he ain't _ever_ been caught. Shot a teeny little cassette right between my fingers from… I dunno, he must've sat on that mountain the train bends around gettin' to the city, and there's a hole in the window to prove it. I tell ya', Stretch, I'm right wary of _any_ open spaces from here on out."

The farm-fox was paid an impressed smirk, "It seems I underestimated your metropolitan lore, Bangs, I figured the Gravedigger's rep hadn't stretched so far as Bunnyburrow, but am willing to admit when I'm wrong (so long as it doesn't involve too hefty a wager)."

"It's a shame you didn't bet anything, then, because you woulda won," he chuckled, "I didn't even _know_ about him until that Chief of yours told me."

What was once an impressed smirk faltered and flickered to a bewildered grin, "Chief… _Bogo_ , as in, 'ten-feet of surly because he can't wear pull-over shirts'. _That_ Bogo?"

"Yeah, ya'know… your boss," prompted Gideon, and then gave a few wheeling gestures of his fists as he swished his hips in an attempt to dance, "Mr. He-Got-Moves?"

Nick stared a minute longer, brow knitted and snout cupped in disapproval (though not at his cousin's continued, gradually exaggerated attempts at dancing), tapping a folded arm with the other paw, _That solves the mystery of how Kela knew about my predicament, at least…_ "Okay, you need to explain how you hacked my phone, because that's _twice_ in as many days that someone besides _me_ got past the lock screen."

Gideon chuckled and swatted dismissively, "Tha's funny, Stretch, but I know you hid your phone in the rain barrel for me to find. That way when Benny called you, _I_ could answer and get right to Chief Bogo," and then tapped his noggin with a grin, "Sly thinkin', Stretch. I dunno _how_ you planned all that, but that is _sly_ thinkin'."

 _Oh… right, I asked Clawhauser on Friday to get back to me when he found something on Dent Wooler… Did his leaving the city set off an alert?_ Nick pondered in absolute astonishment. " _Yes_ ," he decided, "Yes, all that was _definitely_ deliberate. I'm glad you followed along with that plan… that I planned," and gave a shake of his fist for a short and minor victorious fist pump, "Good… good job, yes."

"So _did_ they catch Graves?" Gideon hoped against hope, speaking even lower with furtive glances about the tent.

 _I'm pretty sure Mallupe needs more time to hobble back to his rotary phone, so not as such,_ Nick shook his head, quickly answering the crestfallen response, "He _is_ pinned down in Preds' Corner, though, to which we can thank the Lookers for."

The baker moaned in realization, "No _wonder_ you felt bad about Lanny, you texted him in the witching hours to hightail it over here, and then you had to bring in those lion-crazy loonies to take care of Graves after gettin' kidnapped," he speculated.

Groaning inwardly, the urge to string the misconception along for his personal amusement was overcome by the knowledge that he was unnecessarily dishonest with his own flesh-and-blood, and it's simply not fun when it activates the guilt center of the brain. "Thing is, Bangs," he said and looped an arm about the other fox's neck to bring him in closer, "I started the rumor _last night_ , right after Judy and I left the house to give you and Esther some privacy."

"Then… how'd you know the Gravedigger was comin' for ya'?"

"I didn't, that caught me _completely_ by surprise. Like I told you already, I was under the impression that we had at _least_ the night to prepare for anything Magnus could throw at us; in fact, I was more worried about how I was to stay in Bunnyburrow _long enough_ to run counter-intel without arousing suspicion. That's why I thought I could bring in the Prince's Guard as… a distraction of sorts, you could say," Nick explained, "And I _certainly_ wasn't expecting the _Gravedigger_ , of all mammals."

Initially unresponsive, Gideon did at last speak, if slowly, "Lemme see that I got this right… you accidentally trapped the most dangerous killer in the world with the biggest bunch of nutbars in the world?"

Nick's eyes rolled upwards as he hummed in thought, "Yeah, that's the long-and-short of it."

"Stretch, I can't decide if you're luckiest or _un_ luckiest fox in all of history," he smirked and quirked his eyebrows, even lifting his paws in confusion, "Are you some kinda lightning rod for crazy, or somethin'?"

"Funny you should say that, because as it turns out, Tad Wooler - which brings me nicely around to answer your initial question - is not only one of the rams the Gravedigger had kidnap us, but is also a predo-voyeur, and the sheriff's office was at his house to arrest him for about… I'd say, twenty years worth of peeping, give or take? He took a _lot_ of unwholesome pictures, and that's only the stuff I _stumbled on_ in the process of escaping with Esther."

Nick's habitual smugness (barely) kept him from breaking out in hysterical laughter at the shocked grimace plastered across Gideon's face. He didn't seem entirely… _surprised_ , just shocked. When his mouth at last closed he looked down and away to touch upon the jutting jaw with retrospection, "Tad's a _predo_ … that does explain why we were always at the laundromat on the same night…"

"Additionally, do you remember a young raccoon girl, a runaway that came to your apartment last year?"

"Trisha Rose?" Gideon immediately recalled, "What's she got to do with…?"

"She's the reason why Tad hates you forever, because _you_ saved her from his despicable plans that night," reported Nick, and grabbed his paw to shake it, "As an officer of the ZPD, I thank you for your service to the community."

The shocked grimace returned with a vengeance, and the stouter fox merely jiggled at the shaking of his paw before finally gulping to collect his thoughts, "No _wonder_ she was so scared… I jus' fed her spaghetti and called for her pop to come pick her up, I didn't know about all of _that_."

"I believe that, one-hundred-percent," smirked Nick, implicatively so.

Gradually, Gideon's face tightened and eyes narrowed at what he inferred, "Like _you_ know everything _you're_ doing all the time; you about admitted so yourself," and crossed his arms, "Been in Bunnyburrow _three days_ , and jus' _look_ at what's happened. I shiver to think if you stay the _week!_ "

"In my defense, _Judy_ was in the city three days and _she_ sparked the pred-scare."

"How's that in your _defense_? We don't need _another_ pred-scare; _one_ is too many!"

Nick put both paws to his hips, "I'll have you know I'm a _very_ lucky fox to have around. Why, if we were kidnapped by-" and immediately stopped, "Never mind, forget I said anything."

"Whoa-ho, Stretch," denied Gideon, "Kidnapped by _who_? Is there someone _worse_ than the Gravedigger?"

Nick averted his gaze with a scratch of his cheek, "No, of course not. This situation is as worse as worst can get, and I'm very lucky to have gotten Esther and myself out of it."

" _Stretch_ ," urged a singsong tone.

"No."

"C' _mon_ , Stretch, you know you wanna tell me," grinned Gideon and poked his cousin with alternating fingers.

"Nope," and crossed his arms.

The baker _'hmph_ 'ed and strolled on over to the oven with a sniff of the air, donning his mitts to pull out the freshest batch of pies and set them on the counter. Nick's resolve stayed true, though he eyed those pies something fierce when he inhaled the warm aroma of golden crust newly browned with butter and sugar, but responded with his own _'hmph'_ at his cousin's sly grin.

Grinning slyer, Gideon used a metal spatula to lift a pie from the tray, so smoothly removed that it left only a characteristic circle of sprinkled sugar about its base, and mounted it upon a small plate. He then pulled out a clean rubber spatula and opened up a container of the good whipped cream with a crisp, cool _pop_ to gather up a healthy dollop, and with a masterful gyration of his wrist, crowned the pie in a perfect swirl, leaving a single curl at the very top. Nick quietly whimpered and kneaded his folded arms as the warmth of the pie caused its snowcap to drip the slightest bit, but closed his eyes and shook his head with a determined _'Mmh-mmh!'_.

Sauntering over to the fridge while whistling a soft ditty, Gideon retrieved a small, cloth sack, and brought it to the counter. "I found me a wild blueberry bush nearby, and picked a bunch before you lot showed up yesterday," he conversed, and presented a rich, cerulean berry to flick it high into the air, catching it on his tongue and crushing it against the roof of his mouth with a juicy, satisfying burst, "Wanted it to be a surprise after everything was said and done, but this works, too." Nick watched with a lick of his dark lips as Gideon artfully nestled the blueberries one-by-one into the whipped cream. _'Mmhmm'_ , was how he grunted after closing the berry-sack, and reaching into a drawer of the temporary counter, he withdrew a single fork to offer its handle to Nick, only just flicking his wrist away at the mad grab for it.

"I am not above faceplanting into that pie," warned the taller fox.

"Tell me who's worse than the Gravedigger," instructed the stouter fox, smugly positioning himself in front of the aforementioned really-good-baked-stuff.

Nick pointed and fumed, "You… I can't decide if you're pure evil or heaven-sent," but smirked and held out his palm to receive the utensil. After Gideon slid the pie over, Nick picked it up to savor its taste with muted moans of appreciation. "I hate you and love you right now."

"I can live with that," snickered Gideon, grinning still as he continued topping pies.

"They call him 'Mr. Snatch'," Nick narrated, "He's to kidnapping what the Gravedigger is to assassination, except the former doesn't leave behind a body and the latter is on the ZPD's 'Most Wanted' list, not to mention one's been around for decades and the other only cropped up in recent years. It's been gnawing at the edge of my brain, and one of the reasons why this whole thing with Graves felt so last-minute the more I found out."

"'Mr. Snatch'?" he doubted, "Mr. _Snatch_ … sounds like a villain that Captain Warren beats up on a regular basis."

With a confirming nod and grunt (and another mouthful of pie that he took his time to enjoy), Nick continued, "Unlike everybunny's favorite patriotic super-soldier, he's _very_ real but a complete phantom, even in the Zootopian underworld. The only proof he even _exists_ is that when a target is designated as his, they _always_ disappear (and from what little I've heard, it takes at least a week before anyone even _realizes_ they're gone). My professional opinion is that 'Mr. Snatch' is actually something of a small, tight-knit organization operating under the guise of an urban legend, rather than a single mammal."

"So… how do his targets get 'designated' if no one's seen him?"

"Remember how Finnick found our names and faces on the darknet? That's how. The best he and I can figure, it's a complex encryption that only a select few can use; targets are tossed out into cyberspace by clients with a thorn in their side, they're picked up, terms are negotiated, and…" Nick sighed heavily, setting down the empty plate. He could _feel_ Gideon's hard stare, but this one was of a deepening concern.

"Stretch… why d'you know so much about all this?"

In overwhelming placidity, Nick hunched his shoulders and flicked his tail, "Like I said last night, Bangs, I've got scars on my back, too."

"Yeah…" complied Gideon after a full breath, and folded his paws to twiddle his thumbs and mention, "and since you know all about _mine_ , it's only fair that I know about _yours_ …"

Nick glanced at Gideon.

Gideon glanced at Nick.

"Tit-for-tat, and all that."

"You _really_ want to know, don't you?"

"I got a funny feeling this involves last night's story about a certain skunk-butt rug, dealin' with spooky, shady types as you said it does, so… yeah, I think I _do_ ," he rebutted, "'Specially if you're gonna keep up the habit of makin' powerful enemies."

"Why, so you know not to invite me over for _tea_?"

"No, ya' dummy, so I can _help_ … as best I can, anyway. Not sure what good pies'll be in the _underworld_ , but I ain't lettin' my cousin skirt danger on an empty stomach, and tha's a promise."

Nick chuckled, "Well, that's got to be one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me," he smirked, "We got each other's back, right?"

"Right."

"Right… I'll tell you about it, but at another, less turbulent time… like maybe after we've been pushed out of an airplane without a parachute," considered Nick to a stifled guffaw from Gideon.

"Hey, Stretch."

"Yeah, Bangs?"

"Maybe it's not my place to say, but… you been glancing over there an awful lot," he said, returning sobriety to the exchange as he nodded to the yellow-striped barrier and the brooding brown bunny beyond, continuing after the momentary lapse, "He's still back there, so far as I know."

"Okay?"

"So go _talk_ to him."

"I probably _should_ ," Nick dismissed.

Gideon's brow knitted, "Ya'know, I might not be able to hide my thoughts, or my _intents_ from you, sly as you are," his expression then relaxed in a sympathetic frown, "but I know regret when I see it, and it's all over your face."

The aftertaste of that delicious pie was still on Nick's tongue, but it turned bittersweet as he glanced from the wall to those bright blue eyes, unable to really focus on either. "I wouldn't even know what to talk about," he said in attempted nonchalance.

A firm shoulder bumped into Nick's, "You're both worried _sick_ about Judy, and I'll bet you're kickin' yourselves thinkin' on how you can't do anything to save her, huh?" The taller fox frowned his shock, to which Gideon slightly smiled, "We're _all_ in the same boat, so start from there and jus'… be clever."

After another heavy sigh, Nick stretched his back and cracked his neck, "You know you were so much easier to lead around when you were all withdrawn and anxious."

"Essy'd call it 'unintended consequences'," laughed Gideon, and turned back to his pies after pushing his cousin towards the fateful tent wall.

"Once more into the brink, then," determined Nick, and slipped underneath. The rabbit was easily spotted in the gloom and not only because of the fox's adaptive eyes but because the ear-pinned outline was cast by the glow of a smartphone. The fox made no effort to sneak, knowing that a bunny's keen ears, even if they _were_ diminished in size as Bo's was, heard him coming before he even left the other tent. The neck-less rabbit was at least sitting upright, if his limbs tucked in until he was little more than a pouting boulder (a truly apt metaphor) whose form altered only when a single ear sprung at Nick's approach, if to lay flat again and so sag his broad physique. Despite the fact there wasn't much chance he even _could_ save Judy; Nick still felt a pang of guilt he wasn't sure he deserved.

Standing near the still, quiet rabbit, the fox pondered how best to handle him when he noticed the picture trapping Bo's attention (and set the sunglasses over his eyes to protect against the bright screen). It was the two bunnies, Judy and Bo, she stretching her lips apart with an overbite that further exaggerated her buck teeth, eyes crossed and nose scrunched up; _his_ eyes were rolled back and eyelids flipped, jaw slacked such that his tongue hung out the side. One paw held the phone in a ridiculous selfie as the other paw pointed over his shoulder at a plaque:

"I have bested Judy Hopps

I'm stronger than Bo Briar

I stand amongst your crops

And against the Trier."

Nick grunted disapprovingly but curiously after reading the plaque aloud, compelled to do so when Bo tilted the phone so that he might see it better. "I'd've figured a much more… _heartfelt_ image to pine over," he observed, and then squatted with his arms folded on his knees.

The statement dangled in the air as the phone was turned off (to which the fox perched the sunglasses atop his brow once more and the earthen rabbit leaned his cheek against the crook of an elbow, one foot folded on the other. Bo kept his eyes cast away when he finally spoke and but it seemed he'd forgotten how to raise his voice to conversational levels. "When Judy and I started digging up rocks together, we decided to tackle this real _monster_ of a thing over in an unused field. We dug and dug and dug _all day_ , even getting other bunnies to help, borrowing equipment, calling in favors… only to realize that it was like an _iceberg_ made of rock. To get it out, we'd need to tear up not only _that_ field, but the surrounding fields, too.

"Judy had the idea that, if we dug _under_ the rock, we could at least drop it down far enough that it wasn't sticking out as much, but to do that would be _so_ expensive and dangerous, it wouldn't be worth it. We put all the dirt back and returned to the house, heads hung in shame, but the whole family agreed with us… that we did the right thing by letting it be. It was only later we found out that some of Judy's friends and siblings pitched in to get that plaque made. It was one of the few things that made her laugh those days," and Bo spared a sad chuckle. "I did anything I could to see her smile. And… I know everyone thinks that _I'm_ 'her rock'," he wavered, to which Nick shuffled where he squatted as Bo's voice weakened, "But without Judy… I'm not much more than a… a pile of _dirt_."

Nick leaned in and bumped his shoulder against Bo's, "Hey, c'mon Punch, you're more than that, and you know it. You're Judy's _beau,_ " he laughed, "Do you think she'd stay with you unless she felt like you were a… a big ol' _boulder_ of a bunny that she could rely on? I mean, look at me, I was a slimy, two-faced hustler, but she believed in me because there was something she saw that I didn't. Judy's an amazing rabbit, we both know this, and we both know that she'll come back to us, smelling like daisies."

With a deadened sigh, Bo rubbed his wrist at the corner of his eye, "It's okay, Nick, she already called me…"

"She _called_ you?" exclaimed the fox as quietly as he could, squeezing Bo cheeks together, "Punch, this is something you _lead_ with in a conversation. I can't believe…" and then grabbed his shoulders, "She called _you_?"

"Yeah, she called _me_!" Bo shot back, "And you know what? It felt like someone took the sun out of my sky!" He bit down his bottom lip as his chin trembled, "I didn't mention the phone call because it wasn't for _you_ , Nick, it was for _me_. She… she said…" and choked.

" _What_ , what did she say?" Nick urged.

"It's none of your business," Bo decided, and shoved the fox off of him, "it's between _her_ and _I_ , no one else."

Rising to his feet to brush himself off after such rough, undue treatment on the part of the rabbit, Nick scoffed, "I think it kind of _is_ my business after what happened last night… No, wait, we were kidnapped this _morning_ ," he corrected, considering how Esther described the timeline, and would have continued had not a dark, humorless chuckle inclined his head. "Something funny, Mr. Briar?"

"Just… _stop_ with the whole 'kidnapping' thing," scolded Bo and got up to his feet for his own brushing off, "I know the four of you were together last night, and I'm _sure_ you thought up this grand…" he gesticulated clumsily, " _plot_ to help cushion the blow, but it wasn't funny when Gid started it and Judy already finished it up so… just _stop_."

Nick rubbed his palms against his face in attempts to quell the frustration-induced headache built with each word he had the misfortune to endure, "What. Are. You. _Talking_. About?"

"Don't play _dumb_ , Nick," he warned, and approached in a flash with a harsh jab to the fox's chest that nearly knocked the wind of him. It was clear at this point that the corners of Bo's eyes were not the driest they could be. "I am a grown _rabbit_ , and I don't need _lies_ or _mind games_ , or whatever it is you _foxes_ do to avoid your problems." He then retreated a step to clench his fist and scrunch up his face with inner chastisement; turning away to brace the heel of said first against his forehead, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, but…" and only shook his head in disquiet.

 _I'll admit, I can't remember the last time someone spelled it out like that…_ "Punch," tried Nick, but recoiled when the brown rabbit squatted to strike the ground, as his nickname might suggest.

"My name's 'Bo'," he said coldly, and folded his elbows on either knee, "It rhymes with _'Go'_."

"Look-"

"And _'No'_ ," he interrupted. An ear sprung at the footstep approaching him, so he glared over his shoulder at the fox refusing to leave. After a leaden hush, quivering as his muscles audibly flexed beneath his fur and then relaxed, he finally spoke, "I _trusted_ you. I thought of you as a pal, Nick. Judy would go on and on about what a _great_ partner and friend you were. I respected you, felt like I knew you… but as soon as you come around you stab me in the back…"

"I didn't-!"

"Life goes on, I guess," he numbly admitted, and looked away again to stand up with a stretch of his back, and a crack of his neck. "I don't know _why_ you did it-"

"I. _Didn't_."

"But next time you see Judy-"

Nick muffled an exclamation of "For the love of!" with a yank of the bare shoulder to turn the rabbit around, and then yanked again in a grunt when his first attempt couldn't so much as twist the broad torso, so he got both paws to grab in a third attempt when it seemed like Bo resisted without any effort at all, "C'mon, I'm going for dramatic effect here…"

Like a dervish, Bo whipped around to face Nick, glaring up at him with slow, straining heaves. Nick caught his breath and reeled… and then flailed a bit as he stared horror-struck down at the rabbit. He didn't see it happen, but somehow a brown mitt held his neck like a vise, lifting him off the ground at arm's length. His own paws gripped the stony wrist to keep himself up as his toes brushed the grass. "Bo…!" he gasped.

"You wanted 'dramatic', right?" he scowled, his entire body quaking as tears formed at last in the corners of his eyes.

"I can see you're upset…"

"You don't shut up, do you?"

"But if you could put me down…"

"Why…?"

"Well, I'm a huge fan of breathing…"

" _Why_ did you do it?" he demanded, his cheeks now wet around his clenched jaw, "Was it for a laugh? You, and the rest of the world having a good laugh at Bo Briar, making me think that someone… that _anyone_ could ever…" And he shook violently, but to his credit, controlled the strength of his grip around Nick's neck to not completely cut off his air supply. "Judy never… _never_ looked at me with pity… or shame… or like I was already _dead_ …" he said, but by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, was possibly unaware that it was _aloud_. The fox dropped gracelessly onto his tail when he was released as the rabbit collapsed to his knees in a heap, those digger's paws balling fistfuls of grass and earth.

Nick heaved and scurried back until he was well beyond grabbing distance, sitting up and rubbing his neck as he looked with understandable and rapt confusion at Bo, "So… I'll catalog this under 'bunny things', then…?"

"Just stop… _please_ ," he sobbed, and sat back to curl up into a boulder to once more face away from Nick, paws at the back of his hanging skull, "Please, just… go…"

 _You know what, that actually sounds like the smart thing to do. I'll leave for a bit, you'll still be here crying, quietly I hope, and then when we finish this whole thing with the Night Howler, I can come back and-_

"But… when you see her again, tell Judy I'll always love her. I probably won't have the chance to, now…" Bo finally managed to say, his voice heavy with what Nick could only recognize as some kind of guilt.

 _Whole milk fudge, what am I supposed to do with that!_ Nick internally screamed, _If I walked away now, Judy would pop in from out of nowhere and lecture me about his feelings, only to_ spite _me by jumping back into wherever she was kidnapped from._ He glared at the still crying, hiccupping rabbit - even though he was much quieter now - and pantomimed a tantrum. After a long breath, Nick studied Bo's form… and paid heed to the brewing consideration of what Judy extrapolated on their acrobatic antics. Holding up his paws as though to frame him _just_ right… with a nimble pounce he alighted on the rabbit's shoulders. As he hoped, it was like hopping onto a carousel ride and with about as much response to the fox's weight, but it, at least, stopped the sobbing.

"Umm… _excuse_ you?" asked a confused rabbit, his ears flicking as he didn't bother to glance up at Nick, only lifting his head far enough to stare harder at the opposite, plain white wall of the empty tent.

The fox cooed and hushed him with long, gentle strokes of the short (by rabbit standards) ears, "Now that I have your attention, I would like to preface what I'm about to say with a _very_ simple, irrefutable fact of life," and removed the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses from his own brow to carefully slide them into place over Bo's eyes; after all, he earned them on Saturday with his own brand of cleverness, "Foxes _don't_ lie to - or keep secrets _from_ \- each other.

"That said, Judy _is_ in danger, and your phone call is _the_ solitary clue on where to find her. It will require _all_ of my cunning, tricks, and fox magic to figure it out, but that's where you, _Punch_ , come in to fill such a crucial role," with a quick pat of his noggin, and recalling something slipped by the leader of the Burrow Watch, _Which might very well be Bo's fellow members of the Hexward congregation_ , Nick continued, "Historically speaking, a fox's head is lucky because it repels curses and all the misfortune they incur, which you, as a buff history buff, _should_ know all about," he said matter-of-factly. His paws squishing tear-soaked cheeks together, "And it's quite obvious to me that _yours_ is still secured to your ne-'eh… _shoulders_. Ergo, you have all the luck you need to save Judy; QED.

"Now, we must _combine_ our minds on this (that's why I'm sitting up here) to figure out a few things: number one, why did she call _you_ , and number two, _why_ was she allowed to call? I need you to remember as much as you can about _what_ she said. Think back to any phrases that were either _important_ to you - 'Rutabaga Rock', for example - or didn't make _sense_. Can you do that?" asked Nick, and exaggerated massaging his scalp.

"Why should I believe you?" asked Bo; at least that's what Nick _assumed_ he said, it was hard to hear him through the restrained sobs and sniffling of he who was, perhaps, desperate for someone to disprove his darkest dread.

"Quite frankly, whether you believe me or not is irrelevant," Nick conversed, and swayed his dangling legs as if he sat on the edge of a pier, "I'm here to save Judy's life, so I need the information you have in your brain about what she said in that call. Thing is, I don't have the time, resources, or patience to interrogate you, and I'd really rather not anyway because you are a _surprisingly_ comfortable mount; so I'd appreciate you being a jolly good sport about it and at least play along, if you're not going to be directly helpful. With that out of the way, let's get back to being _awfully_ clever foxes and save our beloved Judy Hopps. Alright?"

Bo nodded stiffly and cleared his sinuses, concentrated, bit back a quick cough, but then shook his head, "It was from an unknown number, but other than that, nothing's jumping out at me except 'Rutabaga Rock'. I'm sorry, Gloves…"

"That's okay, it's okay, we'll handle this one step at a time," and clapped a fist into his palm, "Actually, that's an excellent idea. Pacing always helped me and Judy-"

"'Judy and I'," corrected the rabbit sadly, offhandedly.

Nick smirked, and enunciated, " _'Judy and I'_ figure out tough problems. So, _hup hup_ , on both feet with you," he said with a rising gesture.

"Don't you want to get off, first?"

"Of course not, this is an optimal thinking position," explained Nick, bracing himself as Bo staggered to stand and held out his paws for balance, shoulders squared as he secured the dark-furred feet resting on his chest, "Alright, now start walking around the tent."

"But I can barely see with these sunglasses on?"

"You worry too much. Simply walk forward and I shall guide you with these exceptionally long ears you have," he instructed, and idly fiddled with the tips, even smiling as he heard a responding, marginally jovial chuckle, "We'll use them as levers, left ear to left foot, and so on."

"Alternate ears for direction and movement, strafe with both ears, and pull apart to pick something up," he instructed, and then added bashfully, "That's what Juju does, anyway."

 _Oh, if only I could get that on camera… no one at the precinct would believe me otherwise,_ and tested out the steering to find that Bo was aptly responsive, and so proceeded to drive around the tent, "First, we'll clear the air and your head: what's this about some 'grand plot' to break up you and Judy?"

The rabbit cringed, "It seems so stupid thinking about it now."

"You were emotional, and we need to purge that from your system before we can get our _sly_ on."

The rabbit groaned.

"At your own speed, but let's be quick about it."

"I… I love Judy, more than I can even put into words… but I love her enough to-" and swallowed back the lump in his throat, "to let her go, too… I was willing to accept that she didn't want to be with me, I'm not exactly cream-of-the-crop… I always told myself that if she ever decided to… to end it, that I wouldn't make a fuss, I'll take what I had coming to me. And I knew it would hurt, it _did_ hurt, it hurt like the _dickens_ , especially because I didn't know what I did! Was she dropping hints all this time but I never realized it?" His pace faltered, "And then you and Gid said she was 'kidnapped', except I _just_ heard from her, and she didn't _sound_ kidnapped."

Bo paused to sigh, as though he were to confess a truly grievous transgression, "What hurt more than anything at all was that I thought Judy was in on some big joke against me…" and then he glanced up for the first time the sunglasses were put on his face, over their glow-in-the-dark rims to gaze at Nick, who craned his neck in turn. "I couldn't figure which was worse… whether _you_ put her up to it, or if _she_ was behind it all… And I just… couldn't think straight… I'm sorry… so, _so_ sorry for attacking you, Nick… I don't expect you to forgive me, but please don't tell Judy," he requested, "I want her to hear it from _me_."

 _Huh… if I had a nickel from everyone that threatened my life… I'd be able to pay for a statue of the one mammal that actually apologized for it._ An easy grin crossed Nick's face, "You know, for someone who 'couldn't think straight', you showed quite a lot of self-control by not crushing my larynx like a juice box. I'd hate to see you when you _really_ pop your top."

"You… you're not upset?"

"For…?"

"I tried to _kill_ you…!"

"Seeing as how I'm still alive, I'd say it you _should've_ tried harder."

Bo stared in abject bewilderment, and as his cognitive gears gradually 'clicked' into place, his face softened, "Is this… bantering?"

"Gold star, Punch; there's hope for you yet."

"I'm not used to teasing being a _good_ thing…"

"Think of it as… sparring for the brain."

The rabbit glanced down in boyish wonder, "Huh…"

"I didn't think I'd be having this conversation with another adult, but what kind of 'teasing' do you endure, exactly?"

"Like you said yesterday, some bullies don't ever leave the playground, and it might not look it but bunnies _can_ be as mean as other mammals, especially to other bunnies," grumbled Bo, "Grav wasn't the only one, he was just the worst."

Nick took a moment to consider the rabbit under him, "It occurs to me that the whole 'Bo Branches' thing would've ended when you swelled three sizes, which _itself_ should be a deterrent to continued mockery."

"That's not the reason…"

"Don't leave a fellow fox hanging, Punch."

"There are… some bunnies that might imply I shouldn't be with Judy."

Nick moaned airily in realization, "Ah _yes_ , the most suitable bachelorette in the burrow, of _course_ …" he said with dramatic flair, "Well, jealousy is what it is."

The rabbit grunted and kept walking, "Gloves… it's because I'm _cursed_."

A bland frown was what answered, "I'm sorry, 'cursed'... as in, 'of the Pharabbit'?"

" _No_ ," scoffed Bo, "it's a blood disorder; I break down muscle faster than I can build it up. We talked about it at lunch yesterday?"

"Yes, I recall lunch yesterday, but let's assume I don't know about this quote/unquote 'curse'."

"Oh… it's… well, it's a rare blood disorder called _muscular hyperatrophy_ , but its other name is the 'bunny curse'. Bunnies that have it…" he grunted and shrugged, "they don't live long, and if they _do_ , they're frail, bedridden, and eventually they…" he shuddered, but kept on walking at the steering of his ears, "they could very well suffocate under the weight of their own ribcage. Since there's no treatment for it, it's considered a 'curse'."

The fox was silent a full beat, "So, you're ostracized because of something you were born as, I mean, _with_?"

"It… it's not as simple as that. The bunny community isn't _afraid_ of me or anything, but when you know that your death will be agony not only for _yourself_ , but for everyone who knows and cares about you…" and cleared his throat harshly. "Well, when it comes to _Judy_ … umm… let's just say that fellow bunnies would rather her _not_ be with someone with an untreatable," and then his ears burned hot in Nick's grip, " _genetic_ , blood disorder…"

"If this is too sensitive a topic…"

Bo shook his head, "The only thing sensitive about it is how it's perceived. I studied the history of the disorder, and since it _is_ genetic - like hemophilia - it can only be managed. Any 'cursed' lucky enough to get to my age are so deteriorated that they look skeletal… which probably didn't help with the whole… _curse_ thing."

Nick prodded over Bo's flagrantly muscular frame, "Then this is _very_ realistic styrofoam, and I simply _must_ get the name of your costumer."

Quiet giggles responded to the ticklish prods, "No, that's all me."

" _How_ , exactly? With everything I've been hearing, _you_ should be on _my_ shoulders, and I'm half-a-step up from a beanpole."

"Used to be you could tie me to a bed sheet and fly me like a kite," he snerked, "When I found out about my condition, I figured that was it for me. I bounced around from farm to farm during grade school, after which I went to live at Hares' Bluff. They were a bit more… accepting of 'cursed' rabbits, I guess…"

Nick thought back to when he and Gideon first drove to the Hopps Family Farm on that Saturday morning, and how he tried to cram as much information about bunnies and their burrows as he could from the Woolipedia page. It wasn't even on his mind at all, not with everything else happening, but he did remember there was _something_ between the hares and the rabbits, and couldn't help but wonder if _this_ was connected.

"Well, they encouraged me to not give up," Bo continued, "and after I found out about how Captain Warren was a scrawny little rabbit just like me, I decided to follow in his footsteps and try to pack on as much muscle as I could before my own body ate it all. Eventually, I went through my growth spurt and just kinda… kept going. Went to college looking for answers on the 'bunny curse', and tried to figure out the best diet to combat it, which like Judy said, kinda lead to my little… 'obsession' with finding a way to safely and affordably get more protein into a rabbit's diet."

"Ah yes, the 'dirt and paint thinner' formula."

Bo chuckled awkwardly, "Yeah, that's my attempt to hit the sweet spot; too little won't matter, too much just gets flushed out," to which he sighed a mighty sigh and begrudgingly continued at a curious, insisting grunt, "All mammals can get _muscular hyperatrophy_ ; predators and large prey don't notice because they can eat all the protein they need, while smaller prey don't burn enough muscle for it to matter. Even hares are _just_ big enough to not die from attrition, but _bunnies_ with the disorder, no matter their age or weight, will always use at least a razor's edge more muscle than they have the stomach size to digest through normal means. I found something that _would_ work if it were palatable… or ingestible."

 _How frightfully boring, but you know, I wonder if…_ "Foxes don't have that issue, of course."

"Umm… _predators_ don't have that issue."

"I mean, because it's a _curse_ , which a fox's head repels, as you know."

"According to lore, at least," Bo agreed in further awkwardness.

"Sadly, it only _repels_ curses, and I don't know what to do about long-standing ones."

"Gloves, you know it's not _really_ a curse," the rabbit scoffed a chuckle.

"Sure, we as _adults_ know that…" he trailed off.

"Uhh…?" stopped Bo with a telltale wiggle of his nose.

"There's no shame in it," dismissed Nick, idly moving the paler ears about but to no response from his vehicular bunny, "I'm sure a young rabbit steeped in the Hexward Tenets knew _all about_ curses and foxes, and with the way rabbits already reacted to… well, if you _were_ one, you could at least hang out with that _other_ fox that seemed to have such control over the playground."

"I mean… that is to say…" he laughed, coughed, and cleared his throat in quick succession as marked by a worrying shrug of his shoulders.

 _Let's reel this in,_ smirked Nick, "Of course, bunnies that bully other bunnies wouldn't if there were a fox or adults around. They'd wait until they were far enough away that no one could _call_ for help," and batted at the rabbit's back with his tail at the point of emphasis.

"No, no I suppose they wouldn't," Bo readily complied, eager to end the conversation.

"Somewhere they could get away with it, like behind a huge _rock_ where they couldn't be seen, or off in the fields amongst the carrots, the celery, or the _rutabagas_ ," with two more swipes of the tail, one for each emphasis.

"Yes, yes I suppose they would," Bo readily complied, eager to end of the conversation.

"And certainly _Judy_ wouldn't mind another fox, she almost _said_ so herself," and another two soft smacks, for good measure.

"No, I mean, yes? I mean, I wouldn't know… _exactly_ what she…?"

"What was it Judy said in the call about Rutabaga Rock?" the fox wondered aloud, and with it came a final, swift bushwhack.

"She said, 'I'm sorry, but I don't think we can see each other anymore. I know we've been on the fence about this, but it's for the best. Just remember Rutabaga Rock, okay?'," he recited in a hurry before holding his breath. His ears then pointed skyward as Nick dismounted in supreme smugness. "You…! _How_ did you…?" the rabbit, as well, wondered aloud, setting the novelty eyewear on his brow to reveal dumbfounded hazel eyes.

 _I tricked you into using your brain_ , "Fox secret, very advanced stuff, I'll teach it to you later," and then rubbed his chin in thought, _Alright, I have the clue, but what does it mean…_ "Now, follow me and repeat back the last thing I say as if you're challenging my authority."

Still a little confused, but curious, "What 'authority' is this, exactly?" Bo sincerely asked.

"Yes, _perfect_ , just like that," commended Nick, and with a sweep of his tail began his pacing. "First and foremost, Judy's captors - whoever they are - want her comfortable and safe…"

"How d'you figu-, I mean, 'comfortable and safe'?"

The fox grinned, "Because they allowed her such a seemingly trivial phone call, a phone call which, when you heard it, did not send you _flying_ out to either me or Gideon about Judy's proof-of-life, but rather _convinced_ you of its face value. That tells me she didn't sound distressed, pained, or even _bored_."

"Or 'kidnapped', right?"

"Right. _My_ captors knew how to catch a fox - no menial feat, mind you, we are wily creatures and don't take kindly to incarceration - so I'd bet my tail _Judy's_ captors know how to contain her. I'll admit, we've only been acquainted for about two years, and I have my theories on how one might keep Judy in line, but as someone who knew her as a kid-"

"Ki _t_ ," corrected Bo with an enunciated click of the 't'.

"Come again?"

"Young rabbits, like young foxes, are called 'kits'," he explained.

"…Okay, whatever, my point _is_ , you would know better than I what sort of… I don't know, what her moral compass wouldn't let her do. The best I can figure is she wouldn't draw attention to herself, but that's a very _fox_ way of thinking, and maybe she would need to be a bit more… _bunny_ -like right now?"

"Well… bunnies still wouldn't want to draw attention to themselves… _our_ selves, I mean. And while it comes with the size category, we're a very… _amiable_ sort of folk, not big on making waves," and then smiled despite himself, "Well, except for Judy, of course… she makes _amiable_ waves."

To which Nick jumped on the opportunity to prove himself right, even if the one he disagreed with wasn't present, "Which is why there aren't any alpha foxes… or alpha bunnies, for that matter," he added in a scholarly manner, even stopping to do so.

" _Exactly_. Even though there are 'patriarchs' and 'matriarchs' of bunny families, we don't have 'alphas' like larger mammals do. It's actually one of the things we have in common," he grinned and flicked a finger between him and Nick, "You know, I remember one of my zoological classes went into the differences between rabbits and foxes-"

"That sounds wonderfully unbiased," Nick then said dully over his shoulder.

"Well…" groaned Bo, "The assigned reading wasn't _really_ the most…" and politely cleared his throat, "Anyway, after a bit of my own digging, it turns out we _both_ have a knack for avoiding danger, except foxes seek safety in transience, while _rabbits_ find it in community; that's why _we_ have such large families, but fox families are usually smaller and scarcer."

Nick raised a finger to snark, but then tapped his chin with it, "Most of Judy's time off _does_ go to visiting her family, so if anything _could_ act as a deep-seated mitigation, it'd be that," and snapped his fingers to whip around in full, _Of course, Mr. Barley and the Bunny Brigade, he mentioned Judy's circumstances as more than a barb, didn't he_. "She's being held by other rabbits; which gives her the _keen_ advantage that they won't expect anything fox-like out of her," and smirked, "I'd say they even put her in a gilded cage."

"Why a gilded cage?"

"Time for some street smarts, college boy," grinned Nick, "The single thread of commonality between species is that each will treat their _own_ differently than they will treat a member of _another_ species; it's hardwired into us for survival."

"Which I already knew," Bo pointed out.

Nick continued unhindered, "Now, this does _not_ lead to favoritism when it comes to Judy's capture, it simply means that she is expected to act a certain way or else be put in worse conditions, and she is expected to act as the paragon of truth, justice, and mercy that everyone sees her as. Ergo: gilded cage. Judy will milk such a situation, I have no doubt, and even though she's likely not restrained, she'll be monitored around-the-clock. Anything and everything she does _will_ be taken into consideration, and escape attempts are either nixed or a one-shot deal; the same goes for conveying messages."

"Like, a _secret_ message?"

"Quite so, my dear Briar," Nick added with flair, and proceeded to pace around Bo, "When Judy and I are on covert-ops in the ZPD we use code to communicate. It was a shot in the dark, but that sly bunny must have figured her best chance to get _me_ a message was if it were overheard giving it to _you_ ," and he gestured boisterously, "And when better than right before the pie-eating contest, which she _knew_ had the highest likelihood of getting us in the same place at the same time, provided I gave my own captors the slip. Judy would have had all morning to think about _exactly_ what she wanted to say, and how she wanted to say it," and then quirked a brow as the rabbit grew a tad forlorn, "Maybe she was a bit _too_ convincing. Anyway, In that phone call, 'I'm sorry, _dot dot dot_ , but it's for the best' means to _me_ 'Pay attention, Slick, this is important'."

Bo's ears went up like sails in a tailwind.

"That's not all. She also said 'I know we've been on the fence about this', and while I'm not the first fox you go to on relationship advice, even _I_ could tell that breaking up with you was _not_ on her mind last night, but more to the point, Judy Hopps doesn't drop heavy stuff like that unless it's face-to-face."

His long ears went pink again as he scratched his smiling cheek, "She's always been very honest about how she felt… But now that you mention it, there _was_ this one time Judy and I repaired a fence on the border of her family's farm, and that day kind of stands out for us, so maybe she's referring to it?"

 _Unless…_ "That was _likely_ meant to bring attention to when we shot the breeze on a fence last night; it was quite the conversation. But… _why_ was it important?" he thought aloud, but to the rabbit's shaking head and shrugging shoulders, Nick scratched his neck, "Perhaps because of the statement preceding it, 'I don't think we can see each other anymore'. Judy _would_ have said, 'I don't think we _should_ see each other anymore'; it's more grammatically accurate, wouldn't you say?"

"Okay, _that_ didn't make sense to me, but I'll be honest, the entire thing had me buggered…"

"Fair enough, you weren't expecting cloak-and-dagger _today_ , but be sure to keep an ear out for it in the future," and gave a teasing waggle of his finger. "The fence in question is outside Gideon's house, so what _can't_ be seen from there?"

"I'm afraid I've never been, so I don't know, but I'd bet my foot it's a hefty list," admitted Bo, and then snapped his own fingers after a gasp, "Rutabaga Rock! It's… umm… about a quarter-mile from the Hopps farmhouse, but… it's mostly open fields, so not a lot of places to hide a 'gilded cage', is there?"

 _'_ _Unless 2: Return of the What If'…_ pondered Nick, "Let me see that photo again." Hastily, the rabbit pulled out his phone and brought it up… and then turned down the brightness to not blind the fox as he studied the picture.

"'I stand amongst your crops / And against the Trier'..." read the rabbit, "D'you think that's what she was trying to tell us?"

A fox ear flicked in doubt, "I remember she mentioned 'Briar the Trier' last night, rabbit that screamed to death as a warning to young bunnies," he said dully, and as Bo shifted awkwardly he cleared his throat to continue, recalling the bit about how 'the whole world' played a joke on him and his feelings thereof, "Probably _not_ , and she wouldn't be so vague-"

"Ambiguous."

" _Ambiguous_ as to reference a mocking verse trying too hard to rhyme-" and paused to grunt and clap himself on the forehead. "Punch, please enlighten me on the food processing plant run by Magnus Hopps…"

Operating on the assumption that Nick knew what he was talking about, Bo hummed and complied, "Well, it's one of the biggest plants in the city, and they concentrate the _bejeezus_ out of their so-called 'farm fresh foods', but I digress. It and Hexward Pharmaceuticals are the two economic pillars for the burrow of Knotash," to which the bunny chimed, "and paragons of clean energy."

"And _where_ did 'Briar the Trier' originate?"

" _Uhh…_ " Bo considered, "Those stories aren't much older than I am, but… I'm pretty sure they're _also_ from Knotash."

"We - Jude, Gid, and I - learned last night that Magnus stayed in Bunnyburrow several years ago to 'get back to his roots', and supposedly went the extra mile to use its fresh crops," the fox said as he then recalled their conversation looking out on the quiet countryside to admire the distant glare of the hidden metropolis. He also recalled one of the few times he ever quoted poetry and so deciphered the presumed "Dear John" message, _Find me where we cannot see each other when we were at the fence_ , "Judy's in the city… she's in the Knotash burrow of Zootopia."

"She's _in_ Knotash?" he asked incredulously while pocketing his phone.

"Good, keep at it, there's still more thinking to do," Nick said offhandedly with an equally offhanded smile as he turned to pace, "So, her captor is somebunny with the resources to transport and hold Judy from Bunnyburrow to the city in scant hours, which considering Magnus is bankrolling this whole thing isn't _too_ far a stretch, but even so, who would he _allow_ to use…?" and then gestured over his shoulder at Bo and was promptly bumped into after the sudden brake, "Of _course_ … the same bunny who not only knew her as a kit, but would enjoy nothing more than hearing her break up with _you_ … If she called anyone else for any other reason, he would have _never_ given her a phone."

"You've got to be kidding me," Bo groaned, "they let _him_ out?"

"Magnus, influential rabbit that he is, must've paid bail on the promise that he'd be shipped back home to think about what he did, and likely enough smuggled out a tranqed Judy in the process." Nick then about-faced to grin, "You should've been there at the sheriff's office, Punch, I've never seen her stand so tall… If this goes the way I think it will, he'll succumb to arrogance and face her one-on-one: no goons, no holding cell, no _rules_ … Honestly, I can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for poor Grav Hopps."

Bo wrung his paws and popped his knuckles with an ominous doubt, "It must be the first time I heard from Judy while she's _on_ a case like this… usually, she tells me what she can _afterwards_. I know I'm the boyfriend of a cop and _everyday_ will be a question if she comes home… but… I also know that if anyone is awesome enough to get out of a bind like _this_ , it's her."

"Oh, it goes deeper than that," the fox said matter-of-factly, "The _most_ enviable feat of Judy Hopps is not her survivability, but that she turns adversaries into _assets_ ," Nick then smirked as sly a smirk as he dared, "and Grav will _endeavor_ to be her greatest adversary."

The brown-furred face brightened, but like a low-voltage bulb in a high-voltage lamp, he did not brighten so far that he might burn out again. "Gloves, I'm afraid I'm a bit conflicted right now… I don't know if I should be happy or sad that Judy really _was_ kidnapped, even if it means she might still want to be with me… I'd rather she be _safe_ …"

Nick put both paws to his hips, "Okay, time to sly up and fox right: your loved one _will_ come back to you because she loves you, you love her, and she is exceptionally clever. For the time being, you need to keep your chin up, head down, eyes forward, ears back, and do what it is _you_ need to do to make sure that when she returns (not 'if', but _'when'_ ), it's to somewhere _better_ than when she left in the first place. _That_ is how we foxes deal with our problems."

With a flinch and a frown, Bo straightened up and seemed to nod in confusion about where his head was supposed to be, "Am… I allowed to be both happy _and_ sad right now?"

"Of course you're allowed to feel more than one emotion at once," scoffed Nick, and with a pivot gave his protégé a swift bushwhack to the haunches to usher him along, "Now, I need to make a few phone calls myself, while _you_ need to head out front and check on the pie-eating contestants. You've had your cry, so it's time to get back to work."

"Y-yessir!" scampered the rabbit, though glad, it seemed, for the opportunity to be helpful.

"Oh," said Nick to stop Bo in his tracks, "Be sure to get Lanny another tray of pies and some whipped cream; _non_ -toxic, if you please."

"On it!"

"And one last thing," said Nick to stop Bo in his tracks again, "Can I borrow your sunglasses? I need them for my disguise." They exchanged a grin, and the rabbit happily pulled the glow-in-the-dark eyewear from his head to reverently fold the arms and then carefully toss them over, before slipping back under the tent wall. Nick caught the sunglasses with one paw to flick them open and secure them atop his head once more as he pulled out his phone.

 _Not bad, Nicholas Wilde, not bad at all_ , he mused, and pressed the home button on his phone to activate its lock screen, _Wow, Benny really called me an awful lot, didn't he… so did Mom and Dad… separately, even. Did Bogo let them know? I haven't been missing for twenty-four hours, yet, so maybe he didn't… Still, I'll call them too; she's probably worried sick that I haven't picked up._ His thumbs typed out the passcode, bracing himself for the gut-wrenching imagery that surely remained on his phone since he last looked at it: Gideon's pred-therapy photos. There weren't many, but two videos were also included that he knew he would need to look at eventually, _Not right now, though, and hopefully not soon._ He pulled up his contacts and scrolled until he found "Chief Buffalobutt" (whose profile image was, in fact, a set of uniform-clad haunches unknowingly caught in the act of dancing).

The red, fluffy tail patiently swayed with one paw in his pocket as he listened to the ringing across the line. It usually took a while, since any call made to or from his phone bounced off a few cell towers before reaching its destination (by design, of course; courtesy of Finnick).

"Wilde?" came the rich baritone of ever-lurking disapproval.

"Sir," responded uncharacteristic formality, paws cupping his mouth to the phone.

"Hopps?" he inquired after a full beat.

"Still MIA, but I have reason to believe that she is being held in Knotash, by Magnus Hopps."

"That's a big name in a tight community, Wilde."

"No need to break any rules, only get someone to watch the exits, she'll likely need a pick-up; pink shirt, faded blue jeans, that's the last thing I saw her wearing."

The Cape buffalo softly grumbled, "I'll send some plain-clothes to keep an eye out. If she doesn't show by o-four-hundred, I'll expect you to have evidence for the search warrant."

"Have I _ever_ let you down?" grinned the fox, to which nostrils huffed an answer such that their gush of hot air was almost felt through the phone. "…Concerning Judy, I mean," Nick clarified to a conceding grunt. "By the way, you'll be happy to know that the Gravedigger is pinned down in Preds' Corner by a flood of unexpected visitors. Be sure to tell Sheriff Longmare that he'll be in a tall building with line-of-sight of the furthest of the nearby farms."

It almost sounded like Bogo was about to offer commendation, but the disapproval surfaced, instead, "I heard from Sheriff Longmare that they found Ms. Grey, but not _you_ ," he accused, "Care to explain yourself?"

 _Hoo boy, here we go,_ and switched the phone from one ear to the other, "I… might've ducked out the back to hitch a ride to the TBR, possibly saving innocent civilians," and quickly added to dissuade the audibly swelling frustration, "I would like to point out that _doing_ so lead me to uncover Judy's whereabouts." He held his breath as begrudging acceptance came through on the other end of the call since - yet again - the fox's craziness managed to somehow work out. _Somehow_.

"I will expect a full, _detailed_ report when you get back, Wilde."

"In triplicate, sir."

"By _you_ , not Hopps; _you_."

"Why _me_? Judy fills out reports _so_ much better-" another hot blast of nostril-huff cut him off, to which Nick groaned, " _Fine_ , I'll do the report."

"In triplicate."

"Okay, _Dad_. And be sure to tell Benny I'm alright, you know how he stress-fasts," and hung up the phone with a swift flick of his thumb to return to his contacts, _And now to call Dad_. With a momentary glance to the tent wall to check if anyone was trying to get his attention, Nick felt comfortable leaving the pie-eating contest in the capable paws of Gideon, Bo, and Lanny… and then mused on the irony that he should have been warier of the rabbit than he was of the lion.

He felt tight when the phone continued to ring and a relief when it was finally picked up. The voice on the other side was both mischievous and wise, and hearing it brought back memories from not only the reuniting Friday, but the years of a kit he cherished as a fox. "Nicky, there you are," said John, who long since mastered the _sound_ of smiling.

"Hey Dad, sorry I missed your call. Did something burn down?"

"Not yet, but the week's still young," and then continued lower, "I can't help but notice you're whispering."

"Oh, I had to step away for this call, but I wanted to see what you were up to."

"Well, I was thumbing through some designs for your suit and I wanted your input on either peaked or notched lapels. The notch is more your pace, but the peak is a bit more your style," pondered the older fox as he chewed on what was probably his writing implement.

 _The eternal question for the suited fox,_ hummed Nick, glad for something a little less life-threatening to unwind his brain on, "Actually, shawl might be interesting…"

" _Shawl_ ," snorted John derisively.

"What, shawl lapels are _c'est chic_."

"Kit, I _will_ disown you."

"Mom would skin you alive," smirked Nick.

A discomforted grunt answered from the other side of the call, "Your _next_ suit can be have shawl lapels. And no family discount."

"Fantastic, in that case let's go with the notched this time around."

"Good choice," smiled the paternal voice again, "I already settled on notched, but I wanted to make sure you were on the same page."

"Hey, Dad."

"Yeah, Nickster?"

 _Me and my ragtag group were kidnapped by the deadliest assassin of all time, because one of the driving powers of the most populous community in the city wants us dead for foiling his evil scheme, and I found the missing half of our family that's been absent from our lives for over thirty years,_ "Give Mom a kiss for me."

"Gladly."

"Like, on the cheek."

" _Boring_."

"Kiss her wherever you want afterwards, but the first kiss is from me, and it's on her _cheek_ ; by which I mean her _face_."

"Jeez, suck the fun out of everything, why don't you."

Nick chuckled, "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too, Nicky; stay safe."

 _Not the best track record so far,_ "No promises," he grinned, and ended the call. _Didn't think he'd already be on the lapels. Obviously, he doesn't know I was kidnapped, so something else must've set fire to his tail to focus so much on my suit_ , worried Nick as he read and re-read the matching entries for his parents: "The Real Mr. Foxglove", and "The Real Mrs. Foxglove". Following lunch and an enjoyable afternoon on Friday, the Wildes unanimously agreed that secrets were kept too long between them, and when Nick returned from Bunnyburrow, they would have something of a… fox family meeting. He'd found (well, tripped over) Mom's side of the family, something she was always secretive about, not even Dad knew, but maybe that comes with being the offspring of an infamous pirate. If _Mom_ had such a thing to hide, maybe Dad was worried about his own, deep secrets coming to light… _Like father, like son, I guess,_ pined Nick.

To cheer himself up, he inched along his contacts list to his entry for Judy: "The Reason Why". He wondered what would happen if he called her number, who would pick up, what he would say to someone that might stand between him and Judy as he razed the city to the ground to get her back again… and dreaded the third-degree she'd give him for razing the city to the ground on her behalf… and so tucked his phone away. Dropping the sunglasses back onto his face, Nick so too dropped into his farm-fox persona to continue his monumental duty of ensuring her return was better than her departure.

* * *

Several minutes ago, Judy ended her phone call by snapping the flip-phone shut. She sat upon a chair cushioned with evergreen velvet, its handcrafted cherry wood intricately designed in the fashion of a late baroque period; with one leg crossed over the other languidly, she gazed into the posh, matching vanity before her and held the mobile device up, over her shoulder to the butterscotch rabbit looming thereabouts. The room was small and cozy, but the wide windows and double doors leading to a bright balcony made it feel spacious, doubly so since it was all for her; perhaps a bit much for a farm bunny accustomed to bedrooms shared by at least three or four sisters at a time, but midday sun filled the remaining room with ambient light and warmth… were it not Grav's presence alone draining it, as would a black hole.

"And here I thought the day was wasted," he leered in his false cordiality, plucking the phone from her up-stretched palm to, in turn, hand it off to the male, black-suited guard standing adjacent, "That was delightfully… _efficient_ of you."

Her purple eyes did not leave the mirror or the identical face gazing back at her, "I don't like to leave loose ends," Judy said simply, professionally, and glanced down to pluck a single speck of lint from the salmon, silken blouse tastefully loose around her torso, and brush off the knee of the subdued sapphire capris comfortably snug about her legs. Unlike her companions, she was rested, fed, and washed since her capture early that morning, but was no freer than they.

When he straightened the collar of his maroon polo shirt with a four-leafed clover at the chest (one of the leaves curiously split down the middle with the stroke of a permanent marker), he arched his eyebrows expectantly, "Perhaps you've accepted my invitation for dinner, then," he insinuated and - what little Judy could garner from his absence of basic emotion - hoped.

She leaned on the arm of the chair, cheek in her palm, "But I haven't a dress to wear…"

"Easily remedied, there are _wardrobes_ filled with dresses to choose from," he dismissed jovially, emptily. Bracing his paws on either side of the chair's back to lean in, Grav whispered, "Remember, Judy, you are a _guest_ here, not a prisoner, so feel free to partake of the manor. The library, the garden, the gallery… a guided tour… all you need do is _ask_ , and it is yours."

Judy merely glanced at the female, black-suited guard also standing adjacent, and then spared her "host" a polite smile, even sitting up to address his reflection, "How… _delightful_."

His smile was still sharp; his eyes still dark as he brimmed with ominous anticipation, as though the roar of a towering waterfall that she could only drift towards. "Until then, Judy. At least _try_ to enjoy your stay here," chimed Grav, and so turned with his guard in tow to lighten the room. The female guard stood at attention in front of the closed double doors.

With her message in a bottle cast to an uncertain sea, Judy's solitary concern was that Nick - in all his cleverness that she so trusted - was near enough to overhear her cipher rife with verbal winks (and so send a pick-up for a gray rabbit dressed in pink and blue). If not… then she could only wish that Bo might forgive her, if she could ever face him again…

For the time being, Grav stood in the way of returning to her friends; Judy would need all her slyness to elude him and when they were alone could be her last chance. The dinner would not be until much later, though, so she had the whole day to prepare herself and scope out the manor for the best plan of action. With his visage still fresh on her memory, as though it scarred the mirror into which she glared, Judy harbored but a single thought: _Bring it on._

 **Judy Hopps will return.**

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

We're coming up on the end of _Brave_ pretty soon here, only another few chapters to wrap up this part of the story. Thanks again for sticking around with me as long as you have.

So, I've been sprinkling and spraying Disney references all through _Neverwere Moments_ (anything owned or licensed by Disney I consider fair game, including in recent years Marvel), but two of the more prominent, and perhaps fitting for the world of Zootopia, are _The Lion King_ and _Robin Hood_. The later was referenced as a Mr.  & Mrs. Fox tale at the end of the last chapter, while the former is referenced - in this story - as "The Missing Prince", and something I've toyed with for over a year now:

"Simon King" as Simba, "Memphis" as Mufasa, "Sarah" as Sarabi, "Tim & Bob" as Timon and Pumbaa, and introduced in this chapter, "Tycho King" as Scar (his original name as "Taka" prompted this, and since it rhymes with "psycho", I found it apt).

"Captain Warren" represents Captain America, and was referenced in _Trustworthy_ first during the Sunday lunch; I envision him as a golden-furred rabbit with blue eyes, same coloring forh is uniform, but instead of a star on his shield, it's a white four-leafed clover.

That should do it for now. Thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing, and let me know if there's anything that needs doing!


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's note:**

At long last, the pie-eating contest! I've been teasing at this ever since the very beginning of Trustworthy. No romance this time around, only suspense, comedy, action, and of course, some insight on bunnies and foxes. **  
**

Been dreadfully busy this month at work, and wanted to get this posted _last_ week, but as always and ever, thank you for your continued reading and patience. That said, enjoy!

* * *

Nadia Bazzi, a bunny from Acorn Heights in Savannah Central, earned her master's degree but hit dead ends with every job interview, and must decide on a monthly basis whether to pay for rent and food, or student loans.

Raul Furnandez accrued gambling debts all across Sahara Square, from the Palm Casino to Sandy Cove, and lucky though a rabbit's foot may be he cannot avoid his debtors forever.

Timothy Ruck, father of six bunnies, came from Icy Lake in Tundra Town and _was_ a mated rabbit, but the medical bills left behind proved a terrible burden.

As unlikely as it might seem, those individuals _did_ share some threads of coincidence: they all were rabbits; they all lived in the city of Zootopia; they all took medication for depression; they all received a letter with a _very_ specific dollar amount, unique to each of them, along with a prepaid train ticket and hotel reservation to attend the Tri-Burrow Reunion that year; and finally, they all gathered, one-by-one, at a table set up in front of a yellow-striped tent, as per instructions.

Bo Briar, a Bunnyburrow local, did not receive a letter with a specific dollar amount unique to him and was not on any prescriptions, but he _was_ involved at the yellow-striped tent all the same; not only did he help set it up, but also intended to participate in the pie-eating contest being held there at the time. Poking out from the front flap from the aforementioned tent, the earthen-brown rabbit made a quick scan with both ears and eyes to notice three rabbits he'd never seen before, a gathering audience in newly assembled chairs, and a fourth he recognized as the elderly Mrs. Parsnippet, a volunteer in the TBR committee acting as officiator for the pie-eating contest. Ducking back inside the tent for only a second, Bo came back out and approached the clay-red rabbit with her clipboard and large officiator box.

"Howdy, Mrs. Parsnippet," greeted Bo with all due politeness. Though he was ready and eager to help in any way he could, his heart was still heavy with recent news. He waved to the other three rabbits sitting at the table, who each acknowledged not only his presence but also his unusual size and build in their own little way (however quiet or muted).

"Oh, Bo, dandy to see you again," she replied with a habitual adjustment of her lanyard-tethered glasses and an equally polite smile, "How has your day been?"

"It's been pretty swell. I was just checking up on Gideon and everything's good to go, if I'm not mistaken, on time," he reported, paws to his waist and chest out as the elderly rabbit calmly checked her wristwatch with uncertainty. At least one ear of each present rabbit flicked to point at the unzipping of a wide window flap, and all heads turned to register the stout fox securing the rolled-up panel overhead to reveal trays upon trays upon trays of whipped cream-topped pies. Mrs. Parsnippet grunted daintily in satisfaction while Bo beamed, and each of the city-bunnies looked on in some degree of bewilderment at who (or what) was hosting this contest they were involved in. "Ma'am?" Bo requested discreetly, leaning over some to the inclining elderly rabbit, "You already said it was alright for me to take part, but d'you suppose a friend of mine could, as well? He sampled some of Gideon's pastries recently and now can't get enough of them."

With a quiet titter and a flick of the wrist, she answered, "Bless your heart, of course he can join in; the more the merrier. Where is he, though?" she asked with a swivel of both ears, "I _shan't_ abide tardiness, friend or not." Bo was already showing a thumbs-up to the tent when out sauntered Nick in his disguise, fur disheveled and clothes far shabbier than his normal fare. Mrs. Parsnippet politely reeled as she leaned towards the larger rabbit to quietly ask, " _He's_ your friend?"

"And Gid's cousin, but we just call him 'Stretch'," said Bo plainly, with an equally plain smile, "He's visiting from the city."

"Hey, how you doin'," grinned a now adjacent 'Stretch', speaking more like a Gnu Yorker than the exaggerated country bumpkin he initially planned, a demeanor which both the farm-fox and the farm-bunny found inappropriate. Not only was it rude but, quite frankly, _folly_ to assume that the denizens of Bunnyburrow couldn't spot an over-the-top caricature of a local boy from a mile off. Convincing Nick to transition from one to the other was easily accomplished when Bo presented his case on the matter, and when Gideon swiftly swatted under Nick's tail with the wooden spoon after he tried a "hoo-wee!", a "boy-howdy", and a "I tell you h'wat".

"A pleasure, I'm sure," insisted Mrs. Parsnippet, if more to herself than 'Stretch', but held out a dainty paw all the same, palm down, for the city-fox to shake, "Alright, you two, take your seats, we'll begin soon," she directed and so replenished her composure. The audience roused as the five took their positions on the long, cloth-covered table, Bo positioning himself between the fox and the other three rabbits, as a matter of assumed courtesy that was readily, subtly appreciated.

Firstly, Bo glanced to Nick, nearly slumped upon the table with his chin on a fist as he tried to accommodate himself onto the bunny-sized bench; however, behind the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses perched on his snout the keen, focused eyes betrayed that lethargic front. No doubt, Nick was watching the crowd, analyzing every sidelong glance, furrowed brow, and twitching ear; ever vigilant was he for whoever intended to report the pie-eating contest back to the shadowy puppetmaster, Magnus.

Mingling on the outside of the audience was a mongoose, an armadillo, and an aardvark wearing white t-shirts and carrying a stack of papers each. From a distance, it was clear they were part of the Lookers strung along on a believable rumor that the Missing Prince was at the TBR, and indeed, upon their respective shirts were the words "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" over a boyish smile of the lion cub Simon King. They handed out missing mammal leaflets with that same image and additional information, like an artist's rendition of how he could look twenty years older (complete with the uniquely wavy fiery mane, just like his father Memphis King that so readily distinguished him at a glance). The rabbits received their guests amiably, as they are apt to do, up until the Prince's Guard eventually left to continue Looking.

Secondly, Bo turned to whom he sat adjacent, a weathered rabbit whose fur remained wintery white year-around due to his arctic residence. Though the sun was bright, the air was fresh, and the smell of warm pies was all the more abundant with each tray that Gideon set on the table, Bo couldn't help but feel that his own cordial smile was… forced. "Hi," he said, and held up a brown mitt of a paw in greeting, "Bo Briar. Are you in from the city, too?"

Starting as though he were stirred from sleep, the paternal rabbit addressed Bo with a soft clearing of his throat, "Hey, yeah, I'm Tim, Tim Ruck, from Tundratown," and smiled as best he could, glancing up into the - inadvertently - sadder, hazel eyes, "And I'm only here for a day. But this here's Nadia, and he's Raul, they're visiting, too," he continued; she smiled shyly, awkwardly, and returned to clutching the purse in her lap as she stared pensively at the pies; he gave a single wave with a curt grin, and then continued eying either fox with nervousness in his ears. Grasping the paw, it was clear to the farm-bunny that while it was not a digger's paw like his own, at least not to the same extent, it was one that knew industry and hard labor… yet the grip couldn't seem to respond with that same strength, like a remote control car with bad batteries. Bo kept his smile up, though, that was important to do, especially with the present company.

Nick and Gideon already briefed him on what they discussed last night with Judy: the contestants brought out to Bunnyburrow would be bunnies diagnosed with depression, a hypothetically fertile soil for the fabled death-shriek, which the Night Howler drug was supposed to induce through invoking primal fear, and allowing the diminished emotional state to simply _let_ them give up on life; to top it all off, the prime suspect for such dastardly behavior was none other than Magnus Hopps. Bo might've popped a fuse trying to comprehend _how_ that was possible, _why_ someone (much less Magnus Hopps) would do it, and whether or not either fox was pulling his leg again. Even so, he trusted their insight because it was with Judy whom they reached such a conclusion, and now that he sat with these bunnies from the city, he certainly could _feel_ the weight of emptiness they each carried in their hearts, despite the several dozens of onlookers sitting not a few yards away and bustling with positivity or anticipation (and maybe some boredom). Limited though Bo's knowledge might be on the subject of depression and other such mental maladies, he intuitively understood that there was a deep gap in his fellow bunnies' lives.

Empathy is an innate part of any mammal species, as repeated psychological and zoological studies have shown, especially among prey species whose unit per family group may very well number in the dozens, or in the case of rabbits, _hundreds_. Emotional connection, in conjunction with one's scent, permits an understanding of identity and communication without the confusion that can come from the spoken or written word (which are used mainly for the identification and communication with those outside the family, and more importantly, outside the species). Bunnies, from an early age, hone the art of empathy as easily as they would see, feel, hear, and breath - far earlier than they would to walk or talk - usually through frequent socializing, play, and physical contact; it's not uncommon to find bunnies piled onto the furniture, holding paws regardless of gender or age, or sitting on each other as casually as they would if conversing (often misunderstood as a lack of space inside of warrens). Even rabbits in "small" families, like those in the city, will maintain a strong "warren" with neighboring families (like in apartment complexes) built on this same sense of empathy, even so far as to designate a common room for everyone to meet up in. As a practical example, in contrast to how foxes deal with familial issues one-on-one or as few involved as necessary, rabbits' approach involve as many available at the time to "shoulder the burden" of emotional gravity.

For Bo, since he spent time with numerous farm families in his youth and thus learned to "connect" with other rabbits more readily than otherwise, couldn't help but feel like his concern and dread for Judy's safety pushed to the forefront of his mind, and his proximity to Tim itched as he seemed to share a similar, if not identical, lament. He kept his waning smile up, though, even as the winter rabbit pivoted in his seat to face him, looking and acting much like Stu Hopps would in such a situation (except with a Tundratown accent, of course). Nadia lifted her head and leaned over some, and even Raul turned an ear and an eye when Tim spoke (though in that low, hushed manner bunnies do when they want to keep something private that only their own keen ears can pick up).

"What's wrong, son?" asked Tim, as a paternal rabbit might, and to the pursing lips of Bo, he glanced quickly at the nearby fox(es) and insisted, "If this is about that letter with the train ticket, you can tell me. We all got one."

Bo spared a dart of the eyes to both Nadia and Raul (she agreeing more readily than he). While Nick had mentioned there would've been some way to get them to Bunnyburrow, he detailed a _few_ plausible methods, with an anonymous train ticket as the most likely. He flicked a brown ear at the fox, but dare not glance too far over his shoulder. Instead, he turned his back completely to set an elbow on the table, "No, I didn't get anything like that," answered Bo, and remembering the numerous times Nick berated him in the debriefing to not volunteer _any_ information, including implications that he was aware of subversive machinations, so added, "I _live_ here."

Nadia leaned in curiously, perhaps even expectantly, "This might sound odd - and I don't mean to offend, so I apologize if I do - but are you on any medications?" she asked as politely as possible. Her tone reminded Bo of when Judy was on the trail of an idea, which both lightened and darkened his mood.

"I…" he said quietly, "No, I'm only on supplements, nothing prescribed." Bo felt a burning sensation in the back of his head that did little to dissuade the chill running up his spine; he didn't need to look at Nick to know that a sidelong glance was watching him, and though he was _pretty_ sure the fox couldn't hear a conversation between rabbits, as low as they were talking, he couldn't know for certain. Regardless, Bo was a bunny, first and foremost, and _could_ not omit information from those who now sought absolution. They managed to connect themselves in this event somehow, that much was obvious, and even the presence of 'Stretch' might've made some kind of sense on account of the fox baker covering the table in pies, but this farm-bunny…

"It's just…" he continued with ears back, knowing that he couldn't talk about Judy's circumstances and so his cognitive gears worked their slyest, "I found out that… that there's nothing I can do to… to save my girlfriend…" he trailed off. Indeed, a true enough sentiment that weighed him fiercely, yet also vague that a number of implications were easily assumed. It was Tim who reacted first, reaching out to grip Bo's shoulder in support, and there he felt the strength of an industrial worker and dad. Nadia frowned and then smiled in sympathy, providing a quiet statement of hope. Even Raul seemed sympathetic in his own way. Admittedly, Bo felt a bit lighter in their company, now, and then the reverie whisked away at a terse clearing of the throat from Nick.

Sitting upright the earthen rabbit realized that, in the span of their private conversation, Gideon had set down the last tray of pies as Mrs. Parsnippet finished the nitty-gritty of the contest for the audience's benefit. Bo glanced to Nick, and indeed that laser-like glare from out the corner of a green eye caused sweat to bead at the bunny's brow and temples, especially in the surrounding context of an otherwise disinterested posture. Though unpracticed in the exact art of facial expressions for unspoken communication, Bo's barely mitigated worry - mixed with a certainty of personal effort - radiated off of his features to tell Nick all he needed to know about how little was conversed of (surely, if Bo felt like he _actually_ spilled any beans, he would have looked guilty or apologetic).

Presented for the five of them were well over a hundred pies crowned in whipped cream, and though the rabbits would not know it, the chicken-oil-based whipped cream (the "bad stuff") was undetectable until it was right under their noses; for Nick and his olfactory senses, however, they stood out like neon. Each contestant was given a large napkin to use as a bib; Tim pushed his sleeves up to the elbow, Raul rolled up his, and Nadia removed her jacket to reveal the very short-sleeve shirt beneath, and at the prompting of the officiator, readied themselves for the clang of a large bell that Mrs. Parsnippet held aloft.

Gideon stood off to the side, but closest as he could be to the empty tent in which Lanny hid with the Night Howler antidote, kept nearby in the event that someone somehow ingested what they shouldn't. His nerves were ablaze as he strained with all his available willpower and composure to not claw at his arms in anxiety (old habits are hard to break, after all), but so far, the three city bunnies only grabbed for the safe whipped cream, and if it looked like they were about to lift up one that was villainously drugged and slipped into the stock of an unsuspecting baker, they passed over it onto another one. It certainly _looked_ like things were going well.

Mr. Ruck was the first to duck out, sitting back on the table's bench to wipe his face and mitts clean, mentioning about how he wasn't as young as he used to be, and about how he'll later regret eating all that sugar (but not at the time being). He rose up from his seat and tossed his bib down, tucking his thumbs into his waistband to withdraw.

Mr. Furnandez was slower in his eating, and seemed to watch Tim carefully before sitting back, as well, loosing a long sigh to rub his stomach. His face and paws were much less messy when he removed and folded his bib, and departed the table quite comfortably.

Ms. Bazzi was not so quick to give up, for she was still empowered by youth and fresh out of college, so she ate as if storing calories for hibernation. In time, though, she accepted her capacity for food intake and slowly cleaned herself off, watching in fascinated horror at the two remaining at the table.

Nick and Bo, with their advantage of size, metabolism, and appreciation for free food, inhaled pie after pie, letting whipped cream splatter across their bibs, arms, and faces in a juvenile mess. They were racing each other in true competition to determine who, in this pointless but wholly worthwhile endeavor, was better. The first to pause was Nick but not because his stomach screamed a ceasefire: he'd eaten the last safe pie in arm's reach. Everything else was toxic, and in that split second it appeared that Bo arrived at the same realization, but not before already picking up a perilous pie that he almost took a fervent bite of.

Every eye and ear was on him now, the audience's breath reaching a pitch to find out what he would do with that final pie. _He_ knew what would happen; he would revisit it and everything else he crammed down his gullet from the last few minutes, just like what happened on Saturday. So, staring at the ironically named "baked good" in mounting nausea, he instead dropped it face down on the table with a leaden sigh in sudden realization of how much was actually packed into his stomach. The gears in his head turned once more, and with a groan, he flopped back from the bench onto the grass in a graceless heap, letting his feet fling up to cede the contest.

The fox rose in triumph, fists in the air to an applause of gratitude for the entertainment. He promptly caught a belch before patting the slight bulge of his stomach, " _Lookit_ me, I'm _hyuge_ ," he laughed, "Lemme tell ya', if I had any _idear_ it'd be this much fun, I'd've come out to the country sooner."

Mrs. Parsnippet approached with a polite smile, "I'm afraid the contest isn't _quite_ over, Mr. Stretch," she explained, examining a pair of clickers cradled in her paw.

"You _shure_?" challenged 'Stretch', eyebrow quirking severely over the rim of his sunglasses, "I'm the last mammal standin' over here," and gestured to his specific location.

"Bless your heart, hun, but we count _pies_ in Bunnyburrow," endeared the elderly rabbit, and then showed the set of clickers, "Which both you and Mr. Briar are tied at, with… _quite_ the number, if I may say so, but tied all the same."

Nick lifted his sunglasses to lean over in examination of the numbers, while adding under his breath, "Are you flippin' kidding me," as non-threateningly as he could.

"Not to worry, according to the rules just _one more_ bite can act as a tiebreaker," officiated Mrs. Parsnippet, and gestured at the nearest pie.

" _'_ _Zat_ all? _Fuggit_ about it, ain't even a thing, but _yous_ stand back in case I _explode'r_ somethin'," scoffed a grinning Nick and grabbed up the pie to lick his lips. He angled the toxic treat so that his nose dove into the savory-sweet whipped cream (and thus smearing it across his snout) and took a bite from the buttery-crust to prevent anything harmful entering his mouth. He gulped, huffed, and set down the half-eaten pie to wipe off the delicious yet dangerous puffy white on the bib. "Boom," he punctuated to additional applause.

Nick received a blue ribbon and a **Wal** laby ***Mart** gift certificate for winning the contest (and even got his picture taken, which he removed his sunglasses for), while Bo received a red runner-up ribbon, and Nadia the white third-place; Tim and Raul each earned a yellow participation ribbon (or the otherwise named "appreciation of making a spectacle of yourself for the amusement of others" ribbon). 'Stretch' maintained his inner city dialog so long as Mrs. Parsnippet and most of the audience was present, but as she and they dispersed he found himself cradling the blue ribbon in his palm, quietly considering its significance. It was clear to him that this was not some cheap, off-the-shelf token somebunny purchased for the sake of handing out a prize, but was frilly at the top and long at the bottom with clear, gold-colored text of "Pie-Eating: 1st Place". Thought and effort went into making this ribbon, and what's more, it was willingly, happily awarded to a fox from a bunny.

Unable to prevent the warmth in his chest, Nick wryly mused with a grin to match, and thumbed the gift card, _I should get this framed, give it to Mom so she can add it to my gallery. She and Dad'll get a kick out of it._

Gideon promptly cleaned up the uneaten pies (specifically, ones he _knew_ were bad), and it looked like he was handling some rabbits from the remaining audience interested in sampling his whipped cream and other such baked goods. When they recoiled from what was left over, the stouter fox looked most apologetic (and from what Nick's ears could pick up) for "the whipped cream left too close to the oven while it was on". Some TBR staff came by to take down the table and chairs while Gideon handed out pie-slices dolloped with _good_ whipped cream (since some of it went unused on account of the new stuff made that morning), and while he didn't have the license to _sell_ anything to the Reunion goers, there was no reason he couldn't _give_ it away (along with, as Nick spotted, a business card for his bakery and "rumors" that he'd be willing to consider the expansion of his clientele to "cityfolk").

Bo mingled with some of the audience alongside Tim and Nadia, but his conversation was uninteresting aside from the tractor pull he needed to attend after the pie-eating contest (and something about finding someone who could finally beat him in a test of strength; it quite seemed that he held some undefeated title for several years running). Nick kept removed from the going-ons to maintain vigilance for any suspicious characters, but what bothered him most about the slew of rabbits, hares, and a sparse collection of other farm mammals was the severe lack of anyone discreetly reporting, or ducking away to report anything at all. Surely, a drug test has certain _expectations_ , and a phenomenon like unanimous results should warrant _some_ kind of reaction (especially with the painstaking effort Magnus went through to _ensure_ its actualization). _It's like the calm before a storm, but there's no storm…_ disapproved Nick.

One of the city-bunnies that partook in the contest was not among the rest, but rather near the fox and studying him closely, to which said fox paid an impatient scowl, "You got a problem?"

"I've _seen_ you somewhere before," accused Raul, if curiously.

To this, Nick glanced over his shoulder at everyone else and then leaned in to lower his eyewear, Raul Furnandez, **I see the dice finally caught up to you** , he said in his normal tone but not in his normal language, rather speaking a passionate tongue common to the far, _far_ south, well beyond Zootopia's borders; however, his tone was anything but "passionate", even if he spoke it as naturally as breathing.

 **Nick Wilde, I should've known!** the ochre bunny whispered his distaste, but then smugly added, **I'll have you know that I've got a clean slate. But what're _you_ doing out in the boondocks?**

 **That's not _entirely_ your business** , and then smugly smirked in kind, **However, I think you can be of some help to me.**

Raul scoffed and grinned, **As if I would _ever_ … unless, of course, you want to pay back the fifty bucks you owe me, I wouldn't mind slipping some information for whatever you're _not_ here for.**

Nick calmly snarled to get his (ivory) point(s) across, **I 'owe' you a _knuckle sandwich_ for that stunt at Cactus Grove.**

 **Cactus Grove…?** he doubted, and then cautiously measuring the fox officer's reaction, pleaded his case, **That wasn't… _you_ weren't part of that, were you? Nick, believe me, that wasn't _my_ idea, and if I'd known _you_ were there…** Raul stopped short at an already waned patience broadcast over the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses, **You know what, today's about tying up loose ends, so let's put the past behind us. What kind of 'help' are we talking about, exactly?**

The fox harrumphed with a shrug of his eyebrows, **All I need to know is who got you out here and why. Email, hotel reservation, train ticket, taxi driver, catapult rental, anything you've got with info on it, and the less lip I get, the better.**

" _Ay caramba_ ," y **ou're really around every corner, aren't you,** grimaced Raul, but preferring the "better" option, ceded without too much lip, **Thing is, I _do_ have a print out of the train and hotel confirmations, but to just hand it over so _blatantly_ …** And then he spoke a _bit_ louder, and in a more widely understood language, "That's a pretty ribbon you got there, 'Stretch'," he conversed, "Can I see?"

"Oh yeah," answered 'Stretch', sunglasses over his eyes once more as he, likewise, conversed in his city-fox accent, "That's going right on the fridge went I get home," he laughed.

After turning it over in a show of admiration, the rabbit handed it back, with an " _Adios_ , _amigo,_ " and left; casually.

Casually, Nick pocketed both the ribbon and the folded sheets of paper hidden under it, and returned to the tent when the last of the spectators took their leave. "Closing so soon?" Nick asked quietly and in his more recognizable tone as Gideon lowered and secured the flap for the front window, "Business was finally picking up."

"Ayeup, wasn't s'posed to be here for too long, jus' enough for the contest, and tha's that," he shrugged, but smiled all the same, "I actually had some other plans for today, wanted to try out a few recipes I found on the Internets." When he saw his cousin smoothed some printouts on the temporary counter, he couldn't help but wonder, "What's this?"

"Something I got from one of the contestants," reported Nick, and pulled out his phone to snap a picture of confirmations from both transportation and lodging, "You could say he's something of a 'friend' of mine; if nothing else, he tends to get me in trouble and I return the favor every once in awhile."

Gideon snickered, "Consid'ring how you treat family, I'd say that fits the bill."

" _Hah_ , funny guy; that's what you are, a funny, funny guy," but inwardly grinned as he typed out a request for research to Finnick with the attachments, and some manner of saccharine gratitude. "Mind if I burn these in the oven?" he asked, scooping up the print-outs to shred them.

"Yes, but go ahead anyway," allowed the baker, "Use the bottom one, should still be hot enough to blacken 'em a bit, at least."

"Thank _you_ ," chimed Nick, tossing the bundle of torn paper into the opened oven door, used the metal scouring brush to break up the charred strips, and then back out for his fellow fox to close it up, clapping his paws in resolution. "That should do it. Now then, if I can get that tie back and so return to my loveable, Conifer District foxiness, I can prevent the atrocious habit of misplacing my 'R's when I speak," he said, and untied the shirt from around his waist to give it a quick flap.

"I dunno I kinda like this whole… _'professional'_ thing I got goin'," he mused, and hooked his thumbs around the straps of his apron as though they were suspenders or overalls, "Might even get me a second tie."

"And learn to tie a proper knot," teased Nick as he slipped his arms through the wrinkled sleeves, and frowned with disapproval at yet more forestry from his earlier "romp" that needed brushing from its fabric.

Gideon considered the proposal, "Or I could jus' mail 'em to you and have you tie me that special knot of yours," he teased right back to pull the neckwear out from his apron to tug the quick-release with a quiet, boyish giggle. After a snap of his wrist, Gideon unwound it from his shirt's collar to flick it over his cousin's head, during which he undid the top buttons of his shirt to let it and the tufts of fur within air out, "I'll be glad to get out of this tent and away from that oven, though, it ain't got airflow like my bak'ry does," he huffed.

A quick rapping of knuckles on a tentpole framing the front door flap paused either fox, though only with a cursory caution and a quick exchange of glances that knew it wasn't Bo, who would have simply walked in. Nick nodded towards the entrance and Gideon nodded in agreement, the former once more donning his shades and leaning on the counter casually while the latter approached to answer.

Knowing better than to come across as suspicious or scared, the baker put on a hospitable smile to greet whomever was on the other side. "Oh, afternoon, Mr. Barley, what brings you 'round to my neck of the woods?" inquired Gideon.

Nick's cursory caution transmuted into a panic contained by masterful composure (running on fumes though it was), _Holy canoli, he was serious,_ was the realization, _He's actually going to announce my demise at a bunch of birds. Did he already tell Esther or Sheriff Longmare? Shoot, the kind of debacle this could cause…_

"I'm afraid I have some grave news, Mr. Grey, and wanted to approach you sooner but felt that interrupting the contest would have been… undeserving," he reported soberly, "May we talk privately?"

"Oh, uhh…?" worried Gideon, stepping aside to glance at Nick and holding the flap open, "S-sure, yeah, of course…" As the rabbit entered, blue eyes beseeched green, wondering if the visit had something to do with Judy (of whom at hearing about the coded message, he had emotions mixing awed and anxious) or Esther (of whom he was quite certain that, under the protection of Sheriff Longmare, was the safest she could possibly be); green eyes remained unfathomable behind the shades.

"Thank you," accepted the gray-and-cream, middle-aged rabbit, entering and stopping when he saw the taller fox and frowned a stony frown to herald deathly quiet inside the tent. Gideon stood behind Mr. Barley, back stiff as a board, twiddling his fingers to await any cue or lead from a wholly stoic Nick, who quietly addressed a bunny that grew more and more irritated with unmistakable self-disappointment. His arms crossed as he studied the seemingly patient, languid form, foot even thumping at an alarming pace, "Paint me a _fool_ …" he said under his breath at the end of his toes' tantrum, and then untucking one paw from his elbow to gesture, "He said he had other cousins and I thought it a ruse… yet here you stand."

 _Jeez, give a guy a heart attack, why don't you…_ "'Scuse you?" said the Gnu Yorker accent.

"I thought I heard from the other rabbits that you were a cousin of Mr. Grey's, visiting from the city, which makes you a cousin of _Nick Wilde's_ , as well," Mr. Barley tersely accepted, and then added, "Since you _are_ family, the news I have about him also concerns _you_."

"Wh-what news is this about Nick…?" Gideon demanded, if hushed with doubt and concern. He'd gotten a _very_ brief recap about the dash through the woods and something about "I'll have to tell you later, it's _priceless_ ", but the idea that Nick might have made a powerful enemy in the short time he'd been gone was almost too much to simply brush off. When the rabbit turned full to face him, Gideon asked, "Has he gotten himself into trouble again?"

A tremendous sigh anchored Mr. Barley on the spot, paws folded solemnly at his stomach, "A truly ill fate befell your cousin. My Watch… we were assigned to apprehend him on suspicion of his conspiring in mischief. I'm afraid I cannot go into specifics, but it involves…" and his eyes searched the floor for some kind of prompt, "a missing mammal… someone that I learned you've recently grown close to, Mr. Grey." To Gideon's confused stance, with his paws on his hips and brow all knitted, Mr. Barley continued, "This is difficult to say, and I know it will be difficult to comprehend; had I not been there to witness it I would hardly know how to receive it myself, but… it is with a heavy heart that I tell you that Nick Wilde is no longer with us…"

The statement did not hang long enough for any kind of tumultuous bewilderment to take hold, though. "That's not quite the whole story, Mr. Barley," said Nick, and not in his inner city accent or even his friendly pretentiousness, but in a sylvan sagacity. The other two addressed the response, each in their own action of redirecting line-of-sight and degree of surprise (Gideon's the notably calmer) to find Nick standing upright, sans sunglasses, and as he was caught in the midst of fastening his shirt when the knock came, only had the second and third buttons secured with the sleeves hanging open. What he also had that he didn't before was a black feather secured behind his ear (one of many "souvenirs" he kept plucking out of his fur) held in place by Esther's bobby pin (which he had yet the chance to return), along with a serene, wry smile.

While Gideon's reaction was of placid disbelief, Mr. Barley's was wide-eyed gawking with a hurried sign of the four-leafed clover as he looked up into Nick's calm, yet playful face, "My lucky stars…" was all he muttered, but then leaned forward with fervent inquiry, " _How_ … explain yourself…?"

Nick initially considered an enlightened façade to explain how he got away from those blackbirds, _But why not just go with what I know_ , and instead presented a vivacious, sprite-like grin and as aethereal a tone as he thought was believable, "I cut a deal, Mr. Barley. You see, those weren't crows but _ravens_ , and they agreed to look the other way so long as I delivered a message for them."

" _Trickster_ ," accused the rabbit in hushed awe.

" _Fox_ ," reminded Nick with his brightest-eyed grin, and reached up to pluck the feather from its mooring to lean in until his nose nearly touch the base of the rabbit's ear, "Listen well: ask _Magnus_ where Judy is," and slipped the feather into Mr. Barley's shirt pocket. When he stood upright again, it was with a genuine exhaustion that he played up by bracing the temporary counter and his knee with quiet heaving, _Whew… I didn't realize how winded I really was… C'mon, Nicky, keep it together, at least until the bunny leaves…_ Both Gideon and Mr. Barley approached Nick with concern for his health (if from dissimilar reasoning), to which he held up a paw with a deep breath, and looked directly into the rabbit's face, eyes no longer twinkling but tired, smile no longer whimsical but weary, "There… that should do it," and nearly collapsed on the floor.

"Quick, get him some water!" instructed the rabbit, guiding Nick as best he could to sit up against the temporary cupboards, and then kindly observed, "You're a blasted _fool_ , Nick Wilde, you should know better than to cut deals with ravens, they are friends of _wolves_ of a most ancient pact. What if you were cursed with a fate worse than death?"

Nick simply smirked and waved his paw dismissively, "I'm a _fox_ , we can't be cursed so long as we got our heads about us; just like rabbits' feet are the luckiest with the rabbit still attached, right?" He looked up at the grunting affirmation of Gideon, from whom he thankfully accepted a cup of cool water to sip.

Mr. Barley seemed struck between the eyes as his gaze darted between the two, "Yes, I suppose _so_ ," he admitted, like he only then realized how wet the ocean was and curled his toes audibly. "Perhaps… there are a few things to take into consideration…" he said aloud and to himself, standing upright with a rub of his neck as he looked at the city-fox in quite a new light.

"So, what's this about Nick and 'mischief'?" Gideon inquired if to both present mammals.

Mr. Barley grunted, visibly put-off that he would need to consider one of those "few things" so _soon_. "It was Magnus that called the Burrow Watch this morning to tell us that when you two came by the Hopps farmhouse last night, he thought he saw you carry Judy's unconscious body into your van and drive off," the rabbit reported to the baker. Beneath the stern, mature expression of the Burrow Watch leader, both foxes inwardly trembled to refrain from expressing even an _iota_ of guilt. "He regrets not calling it in sooner, especially since she hasn't been answering her phone, but when we got another call about suspicious activity outside of Tad's pawn shop, along with the scent of fox leading up to it, we positioned ourselves to observe."

"You… _didn't_ call the sheriff's office?" Nick carefully asked.

"The Burrow Watch is an independent entity from the sheriff, and we don't want to flood her phone lines with the multitude of calls the Watch receives Burrow-wide everyday; after all, Sheriff Longmare needn't worry herself over _every_ bird-of-prey in the sky," he explained. Nick glanced at another affirming grunt from Gideon. "Suspicious characters are only reported if conclusive, which we were set to do when you came running out of that house, darting about like you were trying to escape. To that, we gave chase and might I say, Mr. Wilde, you are _not_ an easy mammal to catch; you really put my bunnies through their paces."

 _Graves and Magnus double-dipped the local authorities, then…_ "I'll be honest, Barley, I didn't think you were actually the Burrow Watch, otherwise I would've been a bit less… escape-y," he didn't lie, _It's hard to think that such a disciplined regimen of farmers could possibly be home-grown…_ and then recalled with an itching discomfort of the group of little bunnies that acted in perfect synchronicity to transport a boulder that Judy and Bo dug out of the ground on Saturday, _Bunnies are truly unnerving creatures when left to their own devices._

"In that case, I apologize for the confusion," he sincerely said, and touched the ebony feather through the fabric of his shirt pocket, "But your message from the ravens… I cannot deny that it has shaken me terribly, tasked as I am with the responsibility to get to the bottom of this. Since Magnus already left Bunnyburrow, gaining an audience with him will prove a complicated feat, indeed," but then he grinned, "Not to worry. I can make a few phone calls and as soon as tomorrow morning, we should be on the path to righting any wrongs. Thank you both for cooperating in this, and please accept my most heartfelt apologies for suspecting you of mischief," he offered to either fox.

Gideon batted the air in good humor, "It happens."

Nick slowly stood and set the empty cup on the counter, "Well, we foxes _are_ tricksters, like you said, and it comes with the territory."

Mr. Barley canted his head some, and then rubbed his chin, "There _is_ something that's been bugging me, if I may impose upon you, Mr. Wilde…?"

 _Sorry, I don't do autographs,_ "Fire away."

"That cousin you mentioned earlier," he began curiously, "I thought you were merely antagonizing my rabbits and I, but I cannot help but feel that you were being honest. Clearly, you veiled yourself a disguise as another 'cousin', and I don't doubt you had your reasons, all things considered… but what about… _her_?"

"'Her' who, Essy?" asked Gideon, glancing at the darting eyes of Nick.

"No no, the one with gray fur and purple eyes, like Judy," corrected Mr. Barley, "I could hardly believe it myself, assuming it a ruse, but then my nephew said _he_ heard about a vixen with such colorations living long ago, as told by Otto Hopps, a venerable, trusted rabbit of the community. So… I thought that maybe another was possible, especially since you said you knew her?"

Numerous profanities streamed behind Nick's eyes as he grinned his most endearing, "Well… that is… _yes_ , after all, 'I know everybody', it's on my business card," he finally said to once again earn placid disbelief from Gideon and surprise from Mr. Barley. As the rabbit bowed his head in thought, the taller turned on the stouter to glare a most fervent expression useful for any fox in need: "Either help me or shut up".

"Intriguing…" admitted the rabbit, and looked up again to _just_ miss the quarreling snarls of either fox snapping to ready, smiling compliance, "It's merely a trifle, but I don't suppose you could tell me her name? My nephew says it's something of a family legend amongst the Hoppses, even though neither Stu nor Bonnie pay it much heed; they've always been very… _modern_ rabbits."

 _From all that Judy's told about them and what little I gathered myself, I can't wait to see what a 'traditional' bunny family looks like…_ thought Nick, "Her _name_? No, I don't mind giving out her name, so long as it doesn't land her in trouble. What's in a name, right?"

"Oh, good," smiled an expectant Mr. Barley.

To which Nick hesitated before continuing, "She's named… _Tr_ udy," he enunciated in recollection of how the prior referenced Otto Hopps, a.k.a. "Pop-Pop", would misremember Judy's name over the phone. Gideon bit back a decompressing groan of disapproval.

"'Trudy'?"

"Wilde," Gideon added cheerily, and Nick bit back his own decompressing groan of disapproval, "From his dad's side."

"Oh, I thought you said she wasn't actually a cousin…?"

"That's… because… foxes… _call_ each other 'cousins', even if we aren't _really_ cousins," began Nick, hurriedly sifting through his brain to remember how his Mom described fox-life back in the day, "As a form of… solidarity. Contrariwise, we'll refer to cousins as… _not_ cousins… because we banter, and it's fun."

"And _'Wilde'_ is old Zootopian for 'without extended family'," finished Gideon.

"I did not know that," the rabbit muttered in some degree of polite wonder, and tapped his chin while cradling his elbow, "Trudy Wilde… no doubt short for 'Gertrude'. Well, thank you both for your assistance, especially in such a… trifle as that. I wish you both good fortune in the rest of your day, and I shall report back as _soon_ as I hear anything on Judy," and turned to exit. The dueling scowls were at it again, only to burst into volcanic concern when Mr. Barley's ear sprung towards the tent wall hiding Lanny, and leaned the older rabbit nearer, "What in the world…?"

Nick leapt into action, placing a paw on the rabbit's shoulder to usher him towards the tent flap leading out the front, "That's nothing, absolutely nothing."

"I'm _certain_ I heard growling," asserted Mr. Barley and staying his feet to the floor.

"A friend of ours," said Nick, "Maybe a little under the weather, right Bangs?"

"Ayeup."

"Does he need medical attention?"

"Nope," assured Gideon, intervening between the inquisition and the wall by holding up both paws with a placating smile, "He's jus' sleepin' off last night; ya'know how it is, big party, lotsa fun into the wee hours. He needs a nap, is all, and he'll be right as rain."

Mr. Barley grunted again, paws to his hips, "He sure sounds big."

"Oh yeah," confirmed Nick.

" _Huge_ ," agreed Gideon, and held out his paws in further emphasis.

The rabbit eyed them, but nodded, "Very well. I'll be in the area on account of the Prince's Guard lurking about the tents' perimeter, so if either of you or he needs anything, call and I, or another of the Watch, will come by. Alright?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Barley," the baker immediately answered. He and his fellow fox let the tent flap fall into place and put an ear each to it to listen as the rabbit walked out of earshot. Both sighed, Gideon wiping his brow and Nick rubbing his temples; they then exchanged nods, one directional and the other affirming, the former ducked under the yellow-striped wall to check on the lion while the latter walked around to the back of the tent.

 _Lookers gonna Look, huh?_ suspected Nick, poking his head out to peer up and down the otherwise empty expanse of Horseshire's fields and distant trees kept at bay by the rampart of white tents. Though "harmless fanatics", he could not so readily dismiss Lanny's concern about either their intents or their methods, _Lions aren't usually skittish, and our resident nurse doesn't seem the type to shoulder paranoia on a whim_. Tycho King was, to coin a phrase, "penthouse level information", but what Nick heard about Memphis's younger brother was not the nicest, especially concerning his aggressive team of hyena lawyers. _A group of 'nutbars' could be an ideal cover to hunt for the long lost heir to the King fortune…_ he reasoned, _or at least a believable lookalike… Remove all forms of identification except for some fake dental records, and you can fool even the sharpest detective…_ Sniffing at the air, Nick could sense no one or thing out of the ordinary… until he caught a scent he'd not smelled for months. _So there really was one more kidnapper after all,_ he determined, and sniffed around quietly, footfall making hardly a sound even for _his_ ears as he approached the bakery van parked not too far off, and snuck around to the front.

There, tucked under the wiper blade, was a missing mammal leaflet for Simon King gently fluttering in the passive breeze.

There, still holding the stack of missing mammal leaflets, stood a solitary Looker wearing the white "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" t-shirt over a dark orange collared shirt with the sleeves of the latter rolled up to meet the sleeves of the former, and sporting a low-set baseball cap.

There, the two of them seemingly taken aback to see one another, was a ram and a fox sharing an instant of stoic calculation, before the former flung his stack of papers in a severe arch to intercept the latter's engaging dash.

Nick covered ground in a flash, tail wheeling as he charged through the flurry of leaflets while the ram pulled down his shirt collar to reach into his wool and - as was quickly recognizable to the city-cop - a secreted holster (one of the reasons why all sheep and other such shaggy mammals are sheared when processed in prison). By the time they were in close combat, the gun was already out and leveled for the fox's head, and were it not for his reflexes and foresight, the shot would have done more than graze the fur on his scalp. _Air-powered dart rifle, military grade_ , Nick analyzed, and anchored his foot to empower the upward strike to slam the heel of his palm into the ram's wrist, sending it and the arm attached high overhead.

A hooven fist responded in kind, rising from the sheep's off-side to direct at the fox's lanky gut, and with the already wheeling tail continuing another full rotation, so did Nick's spine join its elusive spiral to curve out of the path of hard-handed brawling, it instead brushing through the loose shirt billowed about an athletic frame. Twisting to the side, dark-furred toes thrust off from the ground to rise and spin with the body following through in a run-by strike. Up above, the hoof securely clutching the gun's handle flicked it in a practiced action to one-hand cock the air-powered rifle for a second shot to enter the barrel, and as he pulled down with his considerable might, so did he aim his elbow for the stripe of red fur between bright green eyes.

In a final flex of his abdominal muscles, Nick jerked his spine to continue its drastic wrenching and yank his precious face away from the elbow drop, flipping on his feet to slide backwards across the grass and towards the tent behind him. Eyes up, he saw the barrel leveling on him again and repeated his dash, but this time in a duck-and-weave to further tax any aiming that injured wrist could manage when not braced by the other hoof. Another shot was fired and stung the base of Nick's ear as it grazed pelt where an eye was only an instant before, instead striking the empty white tent wall to cause a ripple and a muted thunderclap.

The ram raised both hooves to reload his weapon for the third and final shot, elbow out, and Nick's agility slid him nearly adjacent as he turned his body once again, but this time to bring his main fist up and into the sheep's tricep of his non-dominant arm (he knew better than to strike the bountiful cushion of wool surrounding a sheep's torso). The elbow rose as the hoof snapped down, the fox slipped by but found that he could go no further as his neck caught and feet slid. He pivoted, as did the ram, joined by the necktie wrapped around a quick, cloven hoof. With the window of opportunity afforded him from a gagging fox, the gunner aimed directly between Nick's eyes. Clawed paws were up and out to the side, green eyes crossed at a shot he had no chance of dodging; as it was, those two earlier shots should have hit him, were it not for the razor's edge advantage a distracting cloud of leaflets so graciously provided.

There, as the final sheet of paper fell to the ground and with a gun literally pointed at his head, only one avenue remained for the fox: talking.

" _Doug_ ," chimed Nick.

"Nick," stated Doug.

"Haven't seen you since the pred-scare. What'cha been up to?"

"I took a job out in the country."

"Exciting. What kind of job?"

"Hunting foxes."

" _Ooh_ , tricky. Going well, I hope."

"Could be better; could be worse."

"I see you picked up a hobby," and gestured to the smiling lion cub on Doug's shirt.

"…"

"Didn't peg you for the Looking type."

"Okay, shut up," demanded Doug, jerking the tie and fingering the trigger.

"I'm guessing that's _not_ Night Howler."

"Good guess."

"I'm also guessing you were in Preds' Corner earlier today."

"…"

"You used the Prince's Guard as a cover to escape; you're welcome, by the way," explained Nick, and sniffed at the air, "You're also in the employ of the Gravedigger, probably his spotter, all the best snipers have one, like a golfer's caddy. No, don't deny it; I can smell the wolf on you. Where's he at, anyway? He shot at my family and I'm _quite_ cross with him." A low, angry bleating - paired with the barrel pressed directly against Nick's head - did manage to shut him up… for a bit, "Why are you _here_ , anyway?"

Doug scoffed, "I figured the gun would be obvious."

"You could've plucked me or Gideon off at your leisure were that the case, yet here we are," he gestured again, "So… what's on your mind?"

The trigger-knuckle relaxed during the full two beats of contemplation, "'Dawson'. What is it?"

If any of the mocking laughter inside Nick's mind was vocalized he would be shot dead on the spot, so instead he set his features to uncertainty. _Aslan, I know I don't pray much outside of life-threatening situations, but please let Doug be a genuine rube_ , he hoped, knowing that the ploy he and Judy used outside the sheriff's office last night worked like a charm, and any other eavesdroppers were sent down a false trail, "Dawson… _Dawson_ … Isn't that a vacuum cleaner brand?"

The gun barrel jabbed harshly into the fox's brow to earn a pained grunt, and with it a warning, "Maybe that jogged your memory." Doug pursed his lips and clenched his fist around the necktie when Nick clawed at the air with some pseudo-angry growls, "Is that supposed to scare me, _fox_?"

Nick laughed outwardly, "Silly sheep, those were _lion_ noises, not _fox_ noises," and gave a double shot of finger guns with a suave click of his tongue to the narrowing pupils inside wider eyes.

Doug faced what his fighter's instinct knew was another combatant and what his ears recognized as a low growl, fluidly pivoting and yanking the tethered fox around to use him as a hostage against whomever stood behind him. Except… the necktie he clutched so securely whipped freely through the air with no fox (and no knot) on the other end and the owner of the low growl was not _standing_ but airborne with great, tawny mitts extended out towards the sheep. Quite crestfallen, Doug gawked at the nautical ton of grade-A prime lion hurdling towards him at break-neck speeds, but with no red-furred pain-in-the-neck to cushion the impending impact. The firearm specialist's combat reflexes loosed his third and final shot, and if he were not so unbalanced by the lack of weight he expected to have at the end of that tether, the air-powered dart would strike true; as it was, it entered into Lanny's mane and exited out the other side to collide harmlessly against the tent once more.

Tumbling back, Nick braced his shoulder against the grass to roll over it, legs and tail flipping overhead as he somersaulted and slid across the field of fallen leaflets. Lifting his head eagerly, he watched the Lanny Express bullet train stop off at Doug Ramses Junction… and barrel right on through to prepare for another, secondary pounce. Nick's momentary triumphant (which seemed an apt descriptor for most of his emotions lately…) collapsed when he saw no one else but Gideon gripping the end of Lanny's tail in one paw and the Night Howler antidote injector in the other, sharing wholeheartedly his cousin's abject terror as he unwillingly followed behind the lion bounding through the air. Scamper though he try (and try he certain did), Nick stumbled and flailed in the pool of paper, only managing to lift his arms and brace himself for the end of line…

The ground shook with its collision of leonine bulk. A shadow loomed over Nick, engulfing him along with the heady scent of lion that did _not_ coalesce into the dreaded avalanche of muscle and fur. Green eyes peeked out through the laughable shield of his arms to find Lanny's bright scarlets gazing down at him, curiously, distantly, and then moving to inspect what was just above Nick's head. The fox glanced to the scattered leaflets that seemed to stay the… _oddly_ acting lion, and then down along the underside of the poised figure up on his palms and toes. Immediately behind him and between his feet was Gideon, prone and still holding the antidote injector; from the looks of it he did not skid to a halt, but rather dropped after colliding with wherever the tail was connected to on the body…

"Bangs," hissed Nick. Sparing a glimpse up at the lion looking harder at a depiction of another member of its species, he then hissed again, "Bangs!" When the other fox lifted his head, groggy, he peered first up at the denim haunches and reeled, before hearing his name and spotted Nick pointing an injector gesture with his paw, "Femoral artery!" Gideon (bless his heart) did _not_ inject the antidote into the aforementioned artery but rather the nearest portion of anatomy he was sure he could properly aim for. Regardless, it certainly did the trick as Lanny _mewl_ ed high, seized, and promptly crumpled onto the ground; and Nick.

"Stretch!" called Gideon, fortunate enough that Lanny fell _forward_ and so his backend propped up on the knees, allowing the baker to get away without any trouble. He tossed the injector and rushed around to the front of the great tawny beast thrown for a considerable loop, crouching down to reach beneath his chest and drag the city-fox out with all due haste. "Are you okay, Stretch? Speak t' me!" he begged the groaning fox, laying him out on the papers and grass and shaking his shoulders.

"Don't kiss me again," Nick weakly answered.

The stouter fox laughed with joy as he assisted his cousin in upright sitting, and while the taller fox rubbed his head Gideon continued with a soft smack to the shoulder, "Now why'd you do a fool thing like throw a rock at the tent, huh?" he berated with a choke, having scooted around in direct address and holding up his pinched fingers, "I was _this_ close to givin' Lanny the antidote, but then he _springs_ up like a jackal-in-the-box and it was all I could do to grab his tail before he _flies_ off."

"Do _what_?" grimaced Nick, and rubbed his shoulder, "I didn't 'throw a rock' at the tent, I got _him_ to shoot it," he explained, flicking a frustrated paw at the unconscious sheep and his smashed firearm.

"That ain't better!"

"Well, I was fighting for my life and there weren't a lot of options available to me," he scoffed, "And _why_ did Lanny need the Night Howler antidote, anyway?"

Gideon threw his paws up, "How would _I_ know? I went to check on him and then I find the container that had the _really_ bad whipped cream in it, except it was licked _clean_."

"I thought you already used it all?"

"No, I didn't use _all_ of it; I saved some because it's _evidence_."

Nick blinked in thought, _Does that mean a switch was made with the whipped cream in the sheriff's office..?_ He then put his face into both paws, "Good gravy… Lanny wanted whipped cream, but _I_ was busy reporting to Chief Bogo so I told _Bo_ to get him some," and to Gideon's incredulous frown, "The _non_ -toxic stuff, Bangs, c'mon."

"He must've done it while I was so wrapped up in prepping all those pies… Dumb bunny, I _told_ him which of the containers was bad stuff," but stopped short as the color drained from his ears, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Which were the ones that looked _diff'rent_ , not the one that looked exactly like the others."

"Not that Bo would've known that," joined Nick in the grave realization.

"I set it aside in the fridge so that _I_ would know," Gideon dully rationalized.

Both foxes stood and looked at the lion… and then his legs slipped out from under him to accomplish full prostration.

"This never happened," declared Nick.

"What never happened?" agreed Gideon.

"We'll explain what we can when he wakes up."

"Sure, leaving a _lion_ out in the open for the Lookers to find is a good idea."

"And I didn't think to pack my forklift… Okay, go fill up that bucket from the spigot and bring it over," instructed Nick.

"And what're _you_ gonna do?" asked Gideon.

"I'm going to break my personal record for number of sheep hogtied in a single day," and rolled up his sleeves on the way over to Doug Ramses. Luckily for Nick, he needn't improvise the bindings this time, not with spare coils of rope sitting behind each tent. With care to not leave pawprints, he scooped up the remains of the ram's weapon (which he recognized as the same model used in the pred-scare), _carefully_ searched his wool for anything else hidden, and stashed it all in a Trader Doe's reusable shopping bag that was tucked under a seat in the van. As a final touch, Nick twisted a cloth and used it to gag the ram. _It's good to use some proper equipment, but I could've done better with zip ties or handcuffs,_ he thought smugly, clapping his palms together. After retrieving his tie and fastening it in all due properness, Nick turned towards the tent to find Gideon standing with the bucket of water and a smile… of severe awkwardness, since he was flanked by a mortified Mr. Barley and a bewildered Bo (once more wearing the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses he forgot to get back). Nick chuckled and shrugged endearingly, "I can explain…?"

"Please, _do_!" demanded the older rabbit, marching closer.

Caught somewhere between victim, police officer, and being caught red-pawed, Nick indeed explained, "Well, _he_ came at me with a gun, you see, and Lanny - the friend we told you about - heard the scuffle and came out to show what for, but he's still… _recovering_ from last night, like we said, and that's what Gideon has the water for." Mr. Barley's scowling disapproval (not unlike a specific, larger, bluer face of authority) urged Nick to present his evidence, so he swiftly grabbed the grocery tote bag to give it a light shake and demonstrate that there was something inside.

Glimpsing within, the Watch leader's ears sprung as he tugged the bag open a bit farther, "By jove… this firearm isn't even _available_ to the public… it's _barely_ available to the sheriff's office! Mr. Wilde, you and your friends must be the most _foolhardy_ mammals I've ever encountered… but certainly, also some the _luckiest_. You, as an officer of the ZPD, know the kind of damage and mayhem this firearm is capable of; it's what instigated the pred-scare, after all," he said with a worried huff. "This, without a doubt, warrants reporting _directly_ to Sheriff Longmare," and pulled a walkie-talkie from his utility belt, "Per protocol, I'll need to meet her at the gate, but I cannot simply leave the three of you by your lonesome, that would be _irresponsible_ on my part. I'll call in another member of the Watch-"

Nick's fur spiked on his nape at the prospect of having to explain himself _again_ , and laughed anxiously as he glanced to either of his other conspirators for assistance, "I wouldn't want to cause you any _more_ trouble than I already have…"

"No trouble at all, Mr. Wilde, it's my _duty_ to keep the peace for _all_ of Bunnyburrow; including foxes and lions," he smiled.

"I volunteer, sir!" Bo chimed in, if not as calmly as he would've liked.

All eyes were on the earthen rabbit again as the Watch leader turned in address, "Are you _sure_ , Bo? You know the tractor pull can't start without you. And you don't have your gear or even a reliable form of communication," he gestured with a waggle of the walkie-talkie's antenna.

"Sir, Article 8.3b of the Burrow Watch protocol _clearly_ states that 'in the event direct contact with the sheriff is warranted … the _nearest_ , next highest ranking member of the Watch…'" Bo recited.

"Don't quote protocol to _me_ , young buck," huffed Mr. Barley, but could not hide the pride in his voice as he harrumphed in consideration, "Very well, if you're willing to postpone your anticipated test of strength, then I can hardly deny your devotion to duty. But for goodness sake, _Mr. Briar_ , you're representing the Watch; tuck in your shirt and pull up your shorts! What haven't you a belt?" he chastised to a rueful shrug. "I guess it can't be helped right now. You at _least_ have your Burrow Watch identification on you, I hope," implicated Mr. Barley with continued antenna waggling, to which Bo promptly pulled out his wallet and the aforementioned ID card. "Thank Heaven for little miracles, then. _You_ will keep an eye on Mr. Wilde, Mr. Grey, and Mr…" he turned to the foxes, "I'm sorry, what was your friend's name?"

"'Wild'," Gideon pointed out.

"No, the lion."

"From his dad's side of the family," laughed Gideon, pointing to Nick.

"He's also a 'Wild', but without the 'e'," Nick explained casually, "You know, like Samson Wild… although I'm unsure if there's any relation, I've not heard him sing yet, but if he _were_ … No, I doubt he'd be juggling crates down at Lion's Gate if he came from money," and turned around to look at Lanny, paws on his hips, "Okay, I remember him, now."

Gideon also turned after setting down the bucket of water, leaving the bunnies out of their conversation, "You really _do_ know ev'rybody, don'tcha?"

"Well, not personally. Finnick and I tried selling larger Pawpsicles to larger mammals, and the first trial run was to a bunch of sweaty dockworkers, which I can now say with certainty Lanny was amongst the throngs of. We used the pawprint of a tiger friend of mine from grade school to make them - the guy has _huge_ honkin' paws - but while they were popular, the logistics wouldn't work out… And the foremammal was a lioness that, though young, acted like she could've pinned any of the workers to the ground in a tussle, and she wasn't willing to look the other way, so…"

Mr. Barley cleared his throat loudly.

"So…" Nick spun about, "What were we talking about?"

"Bo's kitsitting us," Gideon reminded after about facing.

"Goody!" the taller fox beamed at Bo and clapped his paws together, "Is it almost nap time, yet? Because I could _really_ go for-"

Mr. Barley cleared his throat _louder_.

"Sorry, I cannot brain today, I have the dumb," Nick extrapolated in stoic professionalism, "Don't mind me."

"You're certainly an odd one, Mr. Wilde," he observed at a sidelong glance before putting the walkie-talkie to his mouth with its characteristic cough of activation. The Watch leader proceeded to speak in a long, quick string of back-and-forth radio codewords (which Bo recognized, Nick might've if he bothered to listen to all of it, and Gideon didn't in the least) before he was patched through to the recognizable voice of the sheriff (and what was no doubt her radio call sign). "Watchtower to Zero-One: hightail it, Tigger-Bother-Rabbit, over," urged Mr. Barley.

The horse's patience was laced with exasperation that subtly strained at her professionalism, "Watchtower, we already agreed that I don't need to go out there short of fire or anything else life-endangering. Over."

"I really _must_ insist, Zero-One, I'm here with Mr.-" and cleared his throat with a quiet self-reprimand, "I mean… _Officer_ Wilde and-"

"Nurse Wild," whispered Nick, pointing a thumb at Lanny.

" _Nurse_ Wild, over."

"Wilde's _there_? Have him call me, over," she said, professionalism back in full force.

"The fox or the lion, over?"

"The _fox_ , Watchtower, over and _out_ ," and then the radio crackled decisively.

Nick cringed as he pulled up Rachel's number from his phone logs, having called her last evening when Grav came by the bakery in a wholly unfriendly manner, and then snapped to his own professional front when she answered, "Zero-One, this is Wilde," to which Gideon bit back a snicker, "Over."

"I'll say," agreed Longmare over the speaker, "Is Gideon there?"

"I'm here!" the stouter fox rushed over and leaned on his cousin's shoulder, "Is Essy there?"

"She's with Deputy Catmull and also has her phone, so give her a call."

"Yes, I will!" declared the baker, and then quietly said, "'Scuse me," with a clap to Nick's back to walk off and pull out his own mobile device.

"Esther already briefed me on your activities, Nick, and I also heard from Chief Bogo," Rachel explained with heavy implication, although the state of her mood was expertly hidden by a stony tone, "We'll forgo an official statement for the time being, but I'm _assuming_ you have something you can report."

" _Yes_ , about that," began Nick, paw in his pocket as he turned towards the still unconscious sheep and removed his cap, "I ran into the third member of our little flock: Doug Ramses. He used the Lookers as a cover to slip out of Preds' Corner and tracked Gideon and myself down to the TBR; he brought along some serious heat to finish the job."

"Doug Ramses?" repeated Longmare (and Barley), "Holy horsefeathers…" slipped her professionalism.

"My gut tells me he was the spotter for…" and looking once to Mr. Barley and Bo, he bit the bullet, "For the Gravedigger." The older rabbit went pale and the younger rabbit nauseous, after leaning in to disprove his own doubts.

"Nick," Longmare continued slowly, "we found the building you described, and thanks to a Preds' Corner resident, confirmed that a wolf in a trenchcoat and fedora carrying a long, metal case walked into it between 1 and 3AM this morning… While we found the room used to snipe the Greys' house and two distinct scents leading up to it - a wolf's and a ram's - only the ram went inside; so if the wolf entered it wasn't for very long, _certainly_ not long enough for the phone call to take place."

Nick glanced over at an out-of-earshot and gleeful, relieved Gideon, who then waved and pointed at his phone with a broad grin, to which he paid a thumbs-up. When able, the taller fox glared down at the sheep and coldly bristled, "That means it was Doug who shot at Gideon."

"We came to the same conclusion," Longmare soberly concurred, "We'll know for certain when Clawhauser gets back to us with the voice analysis. The Gravedigger is in the wind, but this is still the closest anyone's _ever_ been on his tail."

"No, I don't suppose he would have lingered for too long, and with his head start he could easily be back in city by now. Were there any other sightings?"

"Negative," she grunted, "Phil Octaves saw him enter the building, but wasn't awake long enough to see him leave."

"Wait, _Phil_ is your source on this?" Nick asked curiously and incredulously, _I suppose running a watering hole in a pred community makes weird hours for a prey, but yeesh._

"He's always cooperated with the sheriff's office, and never hesitated to let us know about trouble in Preds' Corner. Phil didn't call earlier because he hardly believed it was who he thought he saw, figuring it was a relative or friend of a resident. Honestly, I can't say I blame him, but he _did_ come forward when he found out we were looking for suspicious activity. Regardless, let Barley know that I'm on my way to the TBR now," and shifted gears to an authoritative tone (what many recognize as the "Mom Voice"), "And _you_ , Wilde, will stay _put_ until I arrive. Are we _clear_?"

"Y-yes! Ma'am!" jumped Nick, "Yes, Ma'am. Loud and clear. Roger that. Over and out," and ended the phone call by shoving the device back into his pocket.

" _Ooh_ , someone's in trou~ble," mocked a now adjacent Gideon.

"If that's the thanks I get for saving your tail, Bangs, consider the next threat on your life _none_ of my concern."

Mr. Barley came upon them like a swarm of hornets to an apt reaction from either fox, "Mr. _Wilde_ , how can you say such a thing, _especially_ in light of everything that's just happened?" he lambasted with a waggle of the walkie-talkie's antenna. His ear then turned towards Bo's whispering behind a cupped paw, "What?" he said, still riled but settling some, " _'Bantering'_? _Now_ , of all times?" and then grunted at the continued, hushed exposition while simultaneously rubbing his chin and securing the two-way radio. He kept his eyes on both Nick and Gideon, even though he likely addressed Bo, "Fortune smiles on the Watch to have a member knowledgeable in the ways of foxes at the ready; stars above, I know _I_ wouldn't have the first idea what to do with the two of you," and straightened his weather-beaten cap. "I'll return with Sheriff Longmare as soon as I can, and when I do I'll _expect_ to see your friend acquiring appropriate medical attention and this mess of papers _cleaned up_ ," came the ultimatum, grabbing the grocery tote with the broken gun inside, "Hopefully, I'm not gone _so_ long as to allow another catastrophe," and departed through the tent. Not even Nick, with his mastery of reading others, could determine whether Mr. Barley spoke in sarcasm.

The earthen rabbit raised a single finger to hold the initiating responses from either fox (snark, no doubt) and flicked his ears towards the Watch leader's absence. After his eyes rolled one away and the other to mimic his ears' radar-like swivel, he looked down to untuck and smooth his tank top. Bo's ears sprung high again to turn on the foxes now flanking him over either shoulder.

"'Knowledgeable in the ways of foxes', he said," cooed Gideon.

"'Fortune smiles' on more than jus' the Watch, methinks," cooed Nick.

Bo lunged forward and away from them to spin about and brush at both his ears, " _Jeez_ , creepy!" he declared with a roll of his shoulders, shrugging off the jolly laughter (and fighting back the urge to join in). When they both quieted, he pointed at the hogtied sheep, "Level with me, Gloves, is that _really_ the sniper from the pred-scare?"

" _That_ guy?" said Gideon, who then recalled, "You mean that copycat Chief Bogo told me about, Doug Something?" and gave him a wide berth on his way to pick up the bucket of water.

Nick came around to stand over the something-named ram, "First off, since _when_ have you been part of the Burrow Watch?" he asked the rabbit.

"A few years now," he said, "What, did you think I dug up rocks for a living?"

"Honestly, yes," a kindly answer informed bemused passivity, " _Now_ I shall cast light upon your well-founded doubt, with the knowledge that - yes - this is the one and only sniper from the pred-scare; I should know, 'twas Judy and I which revealed him. He's lived in hiding for the past year, but I suppose this job was too juicy to pass up, especially if vengeance played into his motivation."

"And I heard Rachel say the Gravedigger got away again," grunted Gideon with a shiver, and hoisted the bucket to prepare a thorough dousing of the still recovering Lanny (though no one yet noticed that his paws had tucked in as if asleep).

"Is… that the part you came in on?" wondered Nick.

"Ayeup; but I have full trust that the sheriff's office or the ZPD can catch that _scoundrel_ , and hang 'im by his tail for what he did to me and my family," the baker announced, and reared his arms back…

 _Hoo boy…_ Green eyes exchanged a glance with hazel, "Actually, it's _Doug_ here that shot at you," Nick corrected, though not with the same icy pitch in his voice as when he first said it.

Gideon tried to yell his incredulity but only managed to choke on his distress, whipping around in such a manner that as his paws released the metal bucket, it unleashed not only its contents but the entirety of the thing on the unsuspecting lion. What followed was a series of quick, loud yells of sequential surprise from all involved except Nick, whose laughter was most hysterical and barely muted. The bucket upended when Lanny's head shot up, deluging across his face, neck, and over the bed of discarded missing mammal leaflets. Suffice to say, he was now wide awake.

The lion's mane was matted against his skull as he rose to a crouch, eyes wide and nostrils flaring while spurting out water and scanning the immediate area (seemingly blind for the moment to the smaller mammals, like the stout fox that fell back on his tail) and then ducked lower as his eyes stared skyward, paw up against the sun to search for… _something_. It wasn't until his breath regulated that he at last looked down to spot the others nearby.

"Lanny," said Nick calmly after he swallowed back his last chortle, "How are we feeling?"

Tawny ears flicked as mitt-like paws wiped the water from face and mane, huffing and sighing as he did, flopping back… only to jump again to realize he sat in something wet and so instead squatted in place. With an elbow at one knee and his eyes rubbed tenderly, he did at last speak, "Better, now that the clouds stopped talking. Why _am_ I wet?" he sincerely asked, and made to pull off the soaked shirt only to brush the spot on his head where the bucket hit and hissed, "Ow…"

"So far as Mr. Barley will be concerned, the bucket of water was 'appropriate medical treatment', but before I answer in _full_ , I have to clarify a few things," began the taller fox, and turning towards the now less startled rabbit, "Can you say with certainty that there's no one in the vicinity that might be able to… eavesdrop at a distance?"

"Umm…" he replied, ears once more swiveling, "No, there _shouldn't_ be. This entire row of tents is pretty much empty, used only for storage and as a border for the fairgrounds, or as an easy-access throughway, like when we had to bring in the Ferris wheel. I was a bit surprised Gid's stall was here to begin with, but they said they needed the extra space to hold the contest, and everywhere else was already full."

"But… there were _names_ on those tents, weren't there?" inquired Gideon as he stood up, and then grimaced when he found out that his own jeans were damp from the bucket of water that spilled everywhere. He proceeded to pick up the wet sheets of paper as Lanny shucked his shirt to give it a quick wring and flap.

Bo chuckled and waved his paw dismissively, "Inside joke for us fair-workers," and then pointed a thumb at the nearest tent (and its dislodged tent wall which Lanny burst out of), "That one's for 'Tom A. Topaste'," he laughed.

"Stretch, _you_ said those dummy tents had a sinister purpose," accused the baker with a fist full of moist paper, "Darn near gave me a heart attack!"

"The Burrow Watch leader is named 'Barley'; how is 'Tom A. Topaste' _not_ an actual name?" came the rebuttal, "Besides, it's _Judy_ you should direct your-"

"Nick," Lanny said sternly, shirt slung over one arm as he attempted to wring out his cropped mane, as well.

"Right, sorry, you were-"

"C'mere."

"…Why?"

"Just c'mere," the lion ushered, and then the rabbit elbowed, to which the taller fox complied in reluctance. The resident nurse's tender mitts cradled Nick's face, leaning in to closely examine the droop of his eyelids and the pulse of his neck. "Nick, you're _exhausted_ , and honestly, it's a wonder you're still standing. When was the last time you slept?"

"Do daydreams of a cotton candy mattress count? If not, then it'd have to be…" and paused, _This morning? Unless 'unconscious while kidnapped' isn't a viable option, either, medically speaking_ , "Saturday night, probably. There might've been a lot of strenuous activity since then, now that I think about it, but I'll be sure to cut back on that from here on out."

"You need _rest_."

"That'd be _great_ , since I'm running on sugar and good intentions right now, and I'm about out of the latter. So, let's be brief: Bangs doused you with water to get you out of your haze from the whipped cream Bo gave you-"

"I didn't give him the toxic stuff, though!" Bo cut in.

"Ain't your fault, Bo, it's _mine_ ," Gideon immediately answered, shoving wet paper into a trashbag he pulled from his van, "I only said which was the bad whipped cream I made this morning, I didn't say anything about the _really_ bad stuff that looked like the good stuff; so tha's on me."

"Oh jeez, is _that_ what I ate…?" asked a shocked Lanny, falling back onto his seat again only to jump up at the reminder that the ground was still wet; so he stepped out from the paper to walk over to the van with a clap of his jeans and a frustrated grumble… and then noticed the bound-and-gagged ram. "As an upstanding citizen, I feel inclined to ask…" and trailed off, looking pointedly at the smaller mammals.

Nick took lead as his he pointed a lazy finger at the ram, "Doug Ramses; I trust my fellow city-boy recognizes the name?"

Lanny blanched, "Wow, umm… Well, if it's all the same to you, I wouldn't mind knowing why he's _here_ …?"

"Hired to ensure that this little scheme followed through by threatening Gideon to stretch out the remaining Night Howler drug, which included kidnapping Judy, Esther and I as leverage," and then he couldn't help but chuckle and smirk as his paws went to his hips, "Actually, it's rather karmic, considering it's _his_ dark deeds that lead to his own defeat."

Gideon's ears went up as a triumphant grin spread across his snout, "Hah! I _knew_ he was gonna get his!"

Nick strutted over and clapped as high up on Lanny's physique as he could reach, "Our tawny torpedo here pounced him in his intoxicated stupor, thanks to some expert set-up from yours truly."

The lion flinched, ears pinned back, "I _pounced_ him?" he said, and proceeded into the instincts of his profession on approach with a nervous whisk of his tail, "He's not _crippled_ or anything, I hope…?"

"I'm fine," grunted Doug around his gag, to which the other four sprung back as though he caught fire. He was still on his side, facing the adjacent tire of the van, and shuffled a bit to strain against his bindings only to wince in pain.

Once again, lead was placed squarely on Nick's shoulders, and he took it in stride as the ram craned his neck to peer over a stiff shoulder, "You have a lot to answer for, Ramses," he said inasmuch professionalism as he could still scrape together, untying the gag to which the sheep smacked his lips, "Now, while I'm just an off-duty cop, Bo here is a member of the Burrow Watch and all that entails, so you'll be happy to know that Sheriff Longmare is en route to haul off your sorry seat cushion."

"Yippee," he flopped his head back down on the grass in an uncomfortable huff, "There's an injector under the van… a _Hexward_ injector," and peered over his shoulder again, "What's it for?"

Nick shot a look at both Gideon and Lanny as they sounded ready to answer (the latter pulling his head back through his shirt, but otherwise attentive), and then shoved both paws into his pockets, "What's it to _you_?"

"Professional curiosity. You know my involvement with _midnicampum holicithias_ , Wilde, and I'm guessing _that's_ for the antidote. So, what was it for?"

"Hey!" barked Gideon and jabbed a finger through the air, filled with confidence in the current circumstances, " _You_ said you don't like to repeat yerself!"

"I _don't_ ," glared the ram in deep significance, and looked to Nick again, "Could you turn me over? I'm getting a crick in my neck, and," he groaned, "I think I sprained something."

" _Nick_ ," beseeched Lanny after a disapproving grunt from the fox, "I'm a nurse, I've dealt with criminals before, and they get busted up the same as innocents." At an allowing gesture paired with a sigh and a step back, the lion neared to kneel down, checking neck, limbs, and joints for anything out of the ordinary, and so presented his diagnosis of the raptly staring ram: "Some bruising and-" Doug clenched his jaw to stifle a pained scream after Lanny popped "a dislocated shoulder," back into place, "but otherwise okay."

"Ow."

"You're welcome," the lion said after sitting his patient up against the van and retrieving the injector, thankful though he was that it didn't break. He inspected it with a weary sigh that he would need to document its use, much like he needed to when used on Judy the night before, and trudged back to the tent in which he spent the morning to return the implement to the hospital case it came in (though still at a low profile, so that his head wouldn't bob over the tops of the tents).

With a tug of his ear and a pointing gesture, Nick directed a complying Bo to stand watch and let them know if anyone (like Sheriff Longmare, as a nonspecific example) approached. "Alright, now that you're comfy, let's see what you're willing to talk about without any _official_ authority in earshot."

"Bite me."

"Tempting."

He nodded at the stouter fox, "I'll talk to _him_."

" _Hah_ ," denied Nick, "I'm not falling for that."

Doug held a full beat, "I'll bet it was awfully quiet after the 'contest' today. _Too_ quiet. I'll tell Gideon why."

"Oh, so I'm 'Gideon' now, am I?" he accused, twiddling fingers moving to, instead, cross arms across a square-shouldered chest.

With a quiet shrug, "I only called you 'Gunky' to illicit a reaction, and it worked. Now, I'm sure you foxes want to hear my thoughts on the 'contest', and I'll tell _Gideon_ all about it."

Nick exchanged disapproving grunts with his fellow fox.

"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere… until the sheriff gets here," said Doug.

Green eyes stared hard beneath a sharp-edged brow, "Don't forget that your previous offer is still on the table," he warned through his vorpal ivories. Shifting to practiced nonchalance, Nick squatted before Doug and braced his knees, staring him dead in the eyes with a thoughtful jutting of his jaw. "You don't need to talk to tell me everything," he began, "I figured it out days ago that this _con_ test was a _drug_ test, which you no doubt wanted to personally know the results of. Yes, I _do_ know about your expertise with chemistry - specifically, poisons and toxins - and in recent history, Night Howler; it's likely why Magnus brought you into this.

"You forced Gideon to make _more_ of it, though, and no doubt a scientist like yourself would want to inspect the goods before the… shall we call it an 'experiment'? Well, can't get to it if you want to maintain the illusion of _being_ the Gravedigger, but you must also know that even a humble baker would have the understanding of ratios that a chemist might, if not on the same level of _nitty_ and _gritty_ ," he stood and half-pivoted, paws on his hips. Nick looked first to the returned Lanny (and his antidote case from Preds' Corner General Hospital), and then spoke to Gideon, "Tell me, Bangs, what happened after you finished making all the whipped cream this morning?"

The stouter fox bristled, "I patched up the window _he_ shot through and then waited by the phone for him to see me, and then he asked me about the _ratios_ in a right tiff. Made all sorts of threats on Essy's well-being," he harrumphed.

"You cried," Doug reminded.

"You don't get to gloat!"

"Easy there, cous', we need him alive," placated Nick, "For the time being, anyway. What happened next?"

Gideon opened his mouth to answer with righteous indignation, "He said I _'diluted'_ it too much, but I told him that…" and stopped to withdraw in dawning, silencing guilt as he remembered what all he said in that conversation… realizing what the ram's icy, victorious gaze meant. "I… I told him…" and his mouth shut as he rubbed an arm and gnawed a quivering lip, "I… I'm sorry, Stretch, I didn't _mean_ to…"

"…Bangs?" he asked, and put a paw to his cousin's shoulder, "What happened?"

"It j-jus'… _slipped_ out, I-I-I didn't know what else to _do_ …"

Lanny turned to look over his shoulder and down along the border of tents, "Is that the sheriff's cruiser…?" It seemed his concern was shared by Bo bounding out of the tent, ears high and twitching, who likely heard the vehicle, as well.

"Bangs, it's okay, we'll get through this _together_ , I just need you to tell me what you _did_ ," urged Nick as he one-armed hugged Gideon and patted his chest to quell the tremble of his chin, "I promise I won't get mad at you; cross my heart."

The stouter fox softly whined as he buried his face into his palms, "I told him what happened when Judy ate the whipped cream…"

"Physically average for a rabbit, recent history of depression…" Doug pointed out in a smug deadpan, "An ideal candidate with the necessary, anticipated results… and she's already gathered up. Who knew?"

"I-I-I'm so _sorry_ …"

"No one wasted their time on this contest except _you_ -" began the sniper, but was cut off in an instant, eyes wide and pupils narrow as he sat up in an electric flinch, catching his breath to gawk at the pearly whites and savage greens mere inches from his face.

"You do _not_ get to gloat," Nick coldly warned, leaning in with one paw bracing the side of the van, the other perched on a hip near a whisking, bushy tail.

Doug stared, chest rising and falling in a rapidly slowing tempo before his eyes settled, and finally spoke after a long, tense moment, "…Or _what_ , fox? You and your pred friends will tear me to bits, I guess. I'm sure if you tell the sheriff that I hurt your cousin's feelings, she'll understand why you're covered in bloody wool."

" _Nick_ ," whispered a deeply worried Lanny, whose training in the medical field could not prepare him for such a situation that he found himself, so instead did what he could to comfort a distraught Gideon, "Sheriff Longmare's almost here, just let it go and she'll take care of him."

"Yeah, _Nick_ ," said the ram, even leaning his head far enough forward that they could feel each other's breath.

Keeping his eyes trained on his quarry, Nick then closed them and breathed in a lungful through his nose, before letting it all out in a long exhale with contemplative claws drumming on the van, and so stood with his paws behind his back. "While my fangs _are_ quite deadly, they are not my _sharpest_ features," he stated, "I wasn't kidding when I said I could smell the wolf on you and it's _far_ more than simple association, which leads me to one of two conclusions, although they are not mutually exclusive: you're either his lover, or you're a copycat beyond method and _dress up_ like him, complete with coat, fedora, and a cheap wolf costume, along with too much _parfum de loup_. I rather wonder that, if we scoured Preds' Corner, we'll find a long, metal case stashed somewhere with your little outfit tucked inside," he chafed, and then inclined to the ram, "Using someone else's reputation is no doubt a great way to get high-profile assassination jobs, doubly so if _they_ allow it so to keep the legend alive while lying low. Just thinking aloud. Either way, it's plain to me now how you might be associated with Tad Wooler, and all his proclivities.

"So, unless the next thing you have to say is that I'm _wrong_ , don't bother responding," the fox suggested after another tense silence, grinning at the deep red, almost purple hue of the usually stoic ram staring daggers back at him. Nick then turned on a heel to greet the sheriff alongside his fellow conspirators, tail swiping across Doug's face only to miss it by a hair's breadth.

* * *

For those of you that look upon my attempts at accents and foreign languages with disdain, I beseech your forgiveness. I know there are fellow writers who take the time and effort to _properly_ translate from one language to another (Nieve, I'm looking at _you_ , you meticulous master of the written word), but I felt that would have bogged down the intent of the conversation between Raul and Nick a casual, pointed conversation, and further delayed this chapter's release. So, for sake of simplicity and sanity, I denote the unnamed but heavily hinted at Spanish-to-English language with **bold** text (since isn't keen on my using brackets), while untranslated text is in _italics_. As for the "Gnu York" accent, I referenced the New Yorker on my mother's side to figure out proper spellings and usages.

Quick run down of references: Tycho King's "aggressive lawyers" are none other than Shenzi, Banzai and Ed; if you're curious about the lioness foremammal at Lion's Gate, I continued the theme and borrowed some descriptors of Nala; "Wallaby*Mart" is a play on "Wal*Mart", while "Trader Doe's" is "Trader Joe's".

Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. Now, I know what you're thinking: "Where is Judy, you blasted fool?". She'll be back in chapter 22. Yes, that means _another_ chapter before we find out what happens to her, so again, I thank you for your continued reading and patience (and your reviews).

Ciao~!


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note:  
**

I must preface this chapter with profound gratitude for your continued patience, and some strongly implied Nick/Esther near the end. We're wrapping things up for **Brave** on the fox-side of things, so the next chapter will be all Judy. That said, buckle in and hold on tight, 'cause here we go!

* * *

Of the afternoon, it teetered on the cusp betwixt "the end of the beginning" and "the beginning of the middle", when TBR-attending families were finishing up their lunchtime rests in renewed vigor for the rest of the day's itinerary. Nick was given no such quarter as he, Bo, Gideon, and Lanny were each grilled to respectively, exponentially different degrees by Sheriff Rachel Longmare since they "should have known better", if in their own ways.

From the least grilled, Lanny Wild knew he was in for a _thorough_ decapitation by way of a set of jaws belonging to Dr. Madge Honey-Badger, head of medicine at Preds' Corner General Hospital. The lion was excused to return to his truck and forgotten cellphone, dreading the past few hours he spent removed from its means of communication. Thankfully, he parked _away_ from the TBR and needn't walk through it or the brewing crowd of onlookers drawn by the sheriff's cruiser. So, he bid the foxes and rabbit a morose but fond farewell as he secured his case of Night Howler antidote, first aid kit, and toddled off.

Moving along the chain, Gideon Grey looked a criminal condemned as he gazed up at Rachel, from whom he only received a heavy sigh and a piteous look, unsure as she seemed what to actually reprimand him _with_ that he wasn't already feeling guilty of. After all, he'd previously spoken with Esther and their over-the-phone reunion _must've_ had him in high spirits, so whatever occurred since then was undoubtedly harsh. The horse did what she could to ensure that the kidnappers would be brought to justice, and more likely than not, transferred to the city for their trial, while the voyeur involved would be processed in Bunnyburrow.

Instead, it was Bo Briar's turn to get a substantial earful from the Burrow Watch leader, to which Longmare gladly allocated such responsibility… even if Mr. Barley's primary concerns were that a member of the Watch followed better protocol whenever he spontaneously volunteered for duty (i.e., to tuck his shirt in and carry his utility belt). However, according to Mr. Barley, in light of the circumstances and the "young buck's" prior obligation to the TBR, some allowances for "casual service" must be permitted. Regardless, Mrs. Parsnippet was awaiting his initiation of the tractor pull, and unless he wanted a truly devastating dressing-down, he would hightail it over to the event posthaste (even though he was still tasked with "kitsitting").

Finally, Officer Nick Wilde faced Sheriff Rachel Longmare. Her arms were crossed. His paws were at his sides. She clopped twice at the dirt before "requesting" his official report. He was "brief". With Doug Ramses secured in the back of her cruiser and the broken military-grade weapon (along with the slew of hidden implements extracted from the ram's wool) in the front seat, Longmare listened while Officer Legrande jotted everything down. Nick explained the Night Howler (and how the evidence was somehow swiped from the sheriff's office before accidentally fed to Lanny - Rachel's saintly patience vibrated in its strain when she stared daggers at the note taking, bullet-sweating giraffe), the activities of Dent and Tad Wooler, his suspicions about Doug Ramses disguised as the Gravedigger, (what he told Mr. Barley and what it _meant_ , although only doing so when said rabbit was grilling his junior Watch member), and Judy being held in Knotash. Longmare broke her stoicism only to direct the badged giraffe to "Write it down; yes, _all_ of it", in a tone perhaps less befitting of someone in her station. Upon finishing, Nick felt ready to collapse but remained standing as he looked up at Rachel.

Rachel looked down at Nick, knowing that even with all the fox's cleverness and insight all he presented were suspicions and circumstantial evidence. Enough for a warrant, and Mr. Barley already had the means to fast track a response from the rabbit community, but as it was, she knew well that her hooves were tied. Knotash was _so_ far out of her jurisdiction, and certainly, Chief Bogo would do everything in his power to get one of his officers back, but the cost of living in a lawful society was abiding by it, and they did what they could to operate within its framework (vigilantism notwithstanding). On top of everything else, Longmare had _three_ criminals threatening to shake the peace of both Bunnyburrow and Horseshire… but even then, in her own sphere of influence, she was beholden to delay public announcement or legal processing for at _least_ a day, so beseeched by key junior members of the Tri-Burrow Reunion Board - which was odd, since it was custom for Reginald Hopps, a senior member, to interact directly with the sheriff on such matters, much like Mr. Barley and the Burrow Watch.

The disciplined bunnies of the Burrow Watch handled crowd control, keeping bystanders out of earshot, easier done since the yellow-striped tent was kept erect (at least for the time being), and ushered them along towards the rest of the Reunion so that the sheriff's office could do its duty. As a personal act before she left, Rachel handed Nick a bag of his clothes that Esther gathered up when Preds' Corner was canvassed earlier (she remained with Deputy Catmull, however, so that she could give a full, official report in the case against Magnus Hopps). To this, Nick expressed his gratitude and bid her a good day in the best way he knew how: with as little snark as foxily possible.

Ducking into the still empty tent to change, Nick sighed inwardly as he looked over at Gideon sulking in a nearby corner; he then appreciated the coincidence that it was the same tent in which _Bo_ was forlorn over the idea that he'd lost Judy forever, but figured that jumping on Gideon's shoulders wouldn't help matters in the same way. Before removing anything, he looked through the bag provided at whatever ensemble Esther pieced together for him from his suitcase: _Lessee… the shirt I got from Tim & Bob's charity luau that I packed for some reason… What else… Umm, right, tight jeans aren't the best thing to wear after an eating contest of any kind, but okay… Wait, this fanny-pack isn't mine…?_ And when he opened it up to peek inside, _My furbrush, how thoughtful… a handkerchief, sunglasses, and a single dried peach slice,_ which he took out of its plastic baggy to pop into his mouth before searching the remainder of the care package, _What, no necktie? I will need to speak with Esther about her perspective on fashio- Oh, score, my lucky red rocketship shorts! These'll bring the whole outfit together for sure_ , and so loosened the borrowed tie to slip it out from the then popped collar. "You're awfully sad for having just helped catch one of the worst criminals in this city's history," he commended over his shoulder, but when no response came, he reiterated, "I _said_ -"

"I didn't help _nuthin_ '…" grumbled the stouter fox.

 _Here we go, again,_ thought the taller fox as he unbuttoned his shirt, _A lifetime of self-doubt won't go away overnight, I guess_ , "There was no possible way you could've known what 'Graves' was really up to," he began, "and did him knowing _really_ change anything? No, it didn't, because Judy's still kidnapped, and in the big picture, whether they want to kill or inflict mad science on her doesn't change the fact that she'll escape at her earliest convenience."

" _You_ woulda known…" argued Gideon, " _Jude_ woulda known… _Essy_ woulda known… ev'ryone 'cept _me_ coulda got outta that without handin' over their friend to a buncha psychos…"

Nick pulled the undershirt over his head and gave his upper self a shake before stooping to pick up his furbrush that Esther so kindly provided, and then began correcting the state of his pelt. "You give yourself too little credit."

"Mr. _Foxglove_ woulda known…" he continued, straying from neither his rhythm nor tone of self-admonishment.

 _Jeez Luiz…_ "Mr. Foxglove is a _fictional_ character," groaned Nick, smoothing out the fur on his head and neck that he so thoroughly upheaved earlier, "And he's psychic, or something, making split-second reactions that _no_ one can do in the real world, even though his stories are quote/unquote, 'hard science fiction'. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but if you want a _real-world_ fox to base yourself off of, I suggest me, and there's a simple reason why: I'm amazing. That said, I doubt even _I_ could have gotten out of a sniper's scope unscathed… as it so happens, I _didn't_ , and neither did Judy or Esther. Of the four of us, _you're_ the only one that was shot at but not hit. How about _that_ , huh?"

"He _coulda_ if he wanted to… still got me to spill the beans on Jude, didn't he… played right into his paws…" Gideon paused and grunted, " _Hooves_ … whatever."

"So _what_ ," was what he insisted whilst brushing his stomach and chest, "There are officers posted at every exit of Knotash looking for her, and if Magnus does anything so _stupid_ as harm Judy, he'll have the full force of Zootopia's police department and legal system to contend with. With the net we've got around him, he can't so much as let her stub a _toe_ without police choppers filling the skies over Knotash. Worst case scenario, Judy stalls until 4AM tomorrow morning when she'll have been missing for the full twenty-four hours, we charge in with search warrants blazing, _hurrah hurrah_ , throw Magnus and Grav behind bars and then everything can get back to normal levels of crazy." To this, misty blue eyes peered over a shoulder, and Nick turned fully to ice the cake, "I would even argue that you leaking the Night Howler results _helped_ us."

"H-How…?" Gideon sniffed (but only a little sniff).

Nick, now a bit smugger, spun the fur brush in the air to catch it again for dramatic pointing, "Because _you_ , my dear cousin, got the spy network off our tails."

"I… I _did_?"

He crouched adjacent with a wry grin, "Remember, Doug implied that no one except _me_ watched the contest, so from the time you told him about Judy's reaction to the whipped cream, they would have called off all those bunnies assigned to keep an ear on us."

"But…"

"Spy networks are _very_ high maintenance and expensive, if you want _quality_ spies, and you only keep them around for a _specific_ purpose, because of what can happen if one of them is caught snooping. That purpose was already fulfilled when they discovered they had concrete evidence for the Night Howler stuff, right?"

"Right…" Gideon agreed, sounding a bit hopeful.

"The only reason they _would_ stick around is to ensure that no one tattled on them," Nick explained, and then bumped their shoulders, "In fact, Bangs, I'm a bit jealous of you… playing right into a trap but turning it around to your advantage, dismantling a spy network, neutralizing a toxic threat, facing down a top notch assassin… all from the comfort of your own home." He beamed as slyly as he dared while Gideon's eyes grew brighter, "How _very_ like Mr. Foxglove of you."

Gideon, despite himself, caught the contagious smile and then pivoted about in his seat to sigh in a self-defeating tone, "That all's nice of you to _say_ , Stretch, but I-" and abruptly stopped as he caught a furbrush shoved into his mitts, "Uhh…?"

Plopping down fully, Nick faced away from his cousin and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the still unkempt fur he'd not yet tended to, "Would you mind?" he casually stated.

To which the stouter fox cleared his sinuses and half-grinned, steadying the bare shoulder as he brushed, "Nah… no worries; I got your back."

Slightly arching at the gentle grooming, the city-fox put his brain back on track, "You didn't betray her, you know."

A leaden sigh preceded the answer, each half-beat counted off with a short, quick stroke of the brush, "Sure feels like I did."

"I'm sure if Judy were sitting in on the call with you she would have done the _exact_ same thing, and given herself over if she knew it would save her friends… or even if it would save some random stranger. She _denies_ being a hero up-and-down, but her actions speak louder than her words," Nick said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah…" concurred Gideon, "I guess it's kinda like what Mr. Foxglove says, ya'know-"

"'You mistaken me for someone heroic'," the foxes recited in unison, if with their own tone. Gideon clapped the more athletic back in a concluding signal, to which Nick laughed and stood, "Supernatural reflexes aside, he's a pretty good fox, despite his nasty habit of diving nose-first into trouble of his own accord."

"That ain't such a bad thing," considered Gideon as he sat back on an arm, "because he knows he can get out of it in the end, sly fox like him. Here," and made to toss the furbrush.

"Hold it a sec, if you'd be so kind," stayed Nick, unabashedly dropping his thoroughly worn, borrowed trousers to continue changing.

"D'you want some privacy, or somethin'?"

"Nothing you haven't seen before, and _recently_. Remember Saturday's hilarious bit in the bathroom?" smirked Nick, "Hilarious in retrospect, anyway," and only after continuing onto the final article of clothing did he gesture to retrieve his grooming implement.

"Not by any effort of my own," Gideon muttered under his breath, tossing the furbrush over before resting his chin in a palm with an arm propped up on a folded knee. As Nick continued brushing himself, "There isn't… _really_ a vixen that looks like Jude… is there?"

"There are gray foxes and no doubt foxes with purple eyes… none that I've seen _combined_ , but stranger things exist in this world," and then grinned, "Why, interested?"

"…Not sayin' I _ain't_ , I jus' find it funny that there's a 'Hopps family legend' about it but Jude never said a word. You'd think that'd be something she'd bring up at some point, 'specially with what she mentioned last night, imagining _herself_ as such."

Pulling out his favorite pair of undergarments (though its packaging was marked for the pup of a larger species, it was its price tag which appealed to the adult fox) Nick commenced his return to decency, "Well, the brain's a funny thing. If, like Mr. Barley attests, Stu and Bonnie don't nourish such a 'legend', then I doubt it goes any further than whatever stories an ancient bunny like _Pop-Pop_ can tell to whatever infantile bunnies are willing to listen. It might be that Judy simply… heard the story once, stored it away for later, and pulled it out when it was useful. Nothing she hasn't done before."

"Well, _shoot_ , she's jus' like Basil of Baker Street, ain't she?" beamed Gideon.

"A role model for any young, aspiring detective, myself included. Where do you think the name 'Dawson' came from?"

"Thought that sounded familiar… Off topic, you're really wearing those undies, huh?"

"Of course, red rocketships are _lucky_ ," explained Nick, "Everyone knows that."

"Nuh-uh," argued Gideon, " _Trains_ are lucky."

" _Pfft_ ," scoffed Nick, "Like I could expect a _farm-fox_ to know what underwear is lucky or not…"

"I'll have you know I'm wearin' a pair _right now_ ," the stouter fox said and sat upright, "I knew I'd need 'em for today, and it's a good thing I _did_ … although I had my doubts before ev'rything worked out."

Another scoff and the taller fox pulled up his black denim jeans… with a grunt; he gave a jump to get it all into place and then secured them. "I have a hypothetical question: why would your sister pick _these_ out for me?"

"Uhh… _counter_ question: why did you bring those in the _first_ place? I can't say they look too comfy."

"So it's up to me to answer both, then…" muttered Nick, "These are more for _fashion_ than comfort, even though sitting at the bottom of a discount clothes bin softened them up a bit. When I packed for Bunnyburrow this weekend, I discovered that I could fit everything from the closet of my hole-in-the-wall apartment into a single suitcase, and since I plan to move back in with my parents and a comparatively _luxurious_ bedroom, I figured I might as well not leave anything behind. As for Esther's motives… I can't help but wonder if she's showing me off," and reached back to examine his tail so he might brush it, as well.

"Showing you off…?" repeated Gideon, brow furrowed before arching, and nearly jumping to his feet, "Hah!" he laughed, "You sly _devil_ , you finally got her to kiss you, didn't ya'?"

"And all it took was becoming the first fox-cop and saving her life," Nick shrugged with a smug grin, and then picked up the vibrantly pink-and-orange hibiscus pattern luau shirt to examine it, "During which she also saved _mine_ , of course; mutual rescue is a great start to any relationship. By the way," he continued, slipping his arm through a sleeve, "I found out that Esther doesn't see _north_ too well…?"

Gideon grinned impishly and scratched his nose, "She's _always_ been jealous of that…"

"Yes, Finnick, too," he recalled, and began buttoning up his shirt, but not even looking at the raised finger or brewing inquiry, immediately answered, "I _do_ , in fact, plan to walk about in public like this. She bothered to pick it out, so I'll bother to wear it," and then softly grumbled when he remembered that the top button was missing, yet never bothered to fix it, _I knew this would come back to bite me someday…_

"Tha's great and all, but… _why_?"

"I'm hoping the bright colors will ward off unfriendlies, _a la_ the poison dart tree frog or Zootopian tourist." Finally, Nick examined the seafoam green handkerchief, and proceeded to fold it to fit into his pocket… but instead whipped it open to affix it around his neck like a bandana to cover the gap left behind from a faulty shirt. Finally, he attached the fanny pack around his waist and shifted it around to the back, since the pockets of the pants he wore were not actually designed to hold anything.

"Now, I ain't a fancy clothes expert, but tha's gonna look real weird with your tie."

"Well, first, it's not _my_ tie it's _yours_ , and second, _I'm_ not wearing it, _you_ are," grinned Nick, and beckoned the stouter fox over. Somewhat bewildered, Gideon did approach and watched in uncertainty as his collar was popped and, once more, the tie slipped around his neck until it was secured in place. "There; respectably professional," and as the stouter fox beamed down at it, the taller fox tugged the quick-release knot, and then stepped back, "There you go."

"Hey!" pouted Gideon, holding up both ends of the neckwear, " _I_ like doing that…"

"You've seen me do it plenty of times and I _know_ you were watching, so now you can tie it yourself. It's how my Dad taught it to me, so now I'm teaching it to you," said Nick. Stooping to pick up both sunglasses and the bag which the clothes came (and his discarded clothes within), he made to depart the tent. His cousin softly grumbled as he poked out his tongue and cinched his brow, fiddling with the new challenge while ducking under the lifted tent wall.

On the other side a patient, earthen-brown rabbit leaned against the temporary counter, arms crossed and leg propped up to bend at the knee. His ears sprung and addressed the foxes, as did his eyes, but his face remained bowed in a contemplative expression. When he caught sight of Nick's new ensemble, he lifted a single finger from his crossed arms and began to speak, only to catch a snicker between his teeth, "You're _really_ going out in that?"

Nick rolled his eyes in a heavy sigh before putting his sunglasses over them, and gestured down with a spreading of his arms, "Esther thinks it a laugh riot, I'm sure, but at least they're clean. ' _Eh,_ Punch?"

Bo stiffened, and put both his feet down to stick out his chest, "I don't know what you're on about."

"Oh, _come_ now," he scoffed, casually swiping the bag of fresh blueberries which Gideon picked and thusly left on the temporary counter, _Yoink_ , and then walked out to the van, the other two close behind, "I can smell that they're a week-worn from here, and that's a _very_ conservative estimate."

"They _are_ my cleanest right now, but I'm quite certain _my_ clothes can't be used to hail a passing ship. ' _Eh_ , Gloves?" After a full beat, both foxes burst out in laughter as Nick opened up the back of the van to toss the bag of clothes in, and Bo soon joined with a jolly shake of his shoulders. "How was that?" he asked hopefully.

"Marked improvement, you'll be a top-tier banterer in no time," commended Nick, "How much of our conversation did you hear?"

"Well… _all_ of it, technically, but I wasn't listening the entire time," the rabbit admitted, and then grew solemn as he rubbed the back of his neck, "I also heard about Judy. Did she… did she _really_ eat the whipped cream?"

"She did," answered the taller fox as he closed the back of the van. When no further inquiry came from behind him, Nick looked over his shoulder apologetically, "I'm pretty sure Judy wanted to tell you as such _herself_ , and definitely would have were she not kidnapped. With everything already going on…"

Bo shook his head, "'Everything in its time', I guess. Like you said, whether I knew before now or not wouldn't have changed anything, since she obviously lived through it, and if she _didn't_ … or if something terrible happened, you would've told me sooner. I guess she didn't upchuck it like _I_ did, huh…?"

"Not so much," Gideon recalled with a shudder, "We were both scared right witless and if Lanny hadn't come 'round when he _did_ , I dunno what we _coulda_ done."

"Considering how much _I_ ate, I should thank my lucky stars I didn't succumb to the same fate," he realized, "So… what happens now?"

"Stick together," Nick ordered, "We should anticipate further correspondence from either Judy or Bogo as the day progresses, and thus need to stay close in case that happens. It's not uncommon when awaiting a response from an operative, and we're fortunate that 'Watchtower' assigned _you_ to look after us, but no one else. This, ironically, can prove one of _the_ most difficult parts to get through, if only because _all_ we can do is _wait_. For the time being, let's stay on the fairgrounds; it looks like the Watch has a wide net spread over it, and the infinite horde of bunnies is a welcome security against any more dark machinations. Now then," shifted the fox to a lighter tone in address to the resident rabbit, "I believe _you_ had thing to do?"

"Tractor pull," grinned Bo with confidence, and curled an arm to flex his bicep, "Been lookin' forward to this for a while, now."

" _Woo_ ," whooped Gideon with a twirl of his finger.

"I wouldn't think that feats of strength were something that bunnies 'looked forward to' or even endorsed," reasoned Nick, and added, "But then, I've learned so much about bunnies this weekend that I never thought I'd ever, ever, _ever_ know."

"True, a lot of anything _we_ can do individually pales in comparison to what we can do as a group, or what can be done by larger mammals, notably horses, and our claim to fame _is_ our voluminous produce; Stu and Bonnie Hopps take home the prize for biggest vegetables every time, you know. Still, after I showed up at the Carrot Days Festival a few years ago and out-pulled a boar, I've become something of a… an _icon_ for hardwork and dedication to other bunnies."

A severe eyebrow from Nick arched in Bo's direction as he leaned against the van, "And this on top of your 'cursed' status? You rabbits sure are a _fickle_ lot."

"Wow, just come out and _say_ it, Stretch," muttered Gideon.

"It's okay, Gid, no harm done," smirked Bo, "After all, I can take solace in knowing that it was not simple 'fortune' that swayed Mr. Barley's decision, but my _own_ insinuation that I was the best qualified for the task due to my 'fox knowledge'."

"Well well _well_ ," grinned Nick, "I'd say Punch's fox status just moved up from 'baby-kit' to 'adolescent'."

The earthen rabbit pondered this with a low hum, and then smiled, "Dissimilar to the progress of your _rabbit_ status." A pair of unimpressed grunts answered as their owners turned to head towards the van's doors, to which Bo scratched behind a crestfallen ear and followed.

"Turnaround responses don't stand up to repeated use, on top of which, _I'm_ not progressing along _any_ sort of 'rabbit status'," Nick extrapolated, "Keep at it, though, you'll get there."

Thick arms crossed over a thick chest in thought, "Dang, was _sure_ I had something with that…"

Gideon clapped his paws before he climbed into the driver's seat, "Get in, guys, we can't stay parked here; gotta head over to the general lot," he announced, and then grimaced through the windshield after sitting behind the wheel, "Ah dangit… _Stretch_ , would ya' grab that?" asked the baker with a dismissive gesture at the Missing Prince leaflet still tucked under the wiper.

"We should add 'littering' to Doug's extensive list of crimes," Nick observed, glancing at the trash bag of wet paper Gideon set outside the yellow-striped tent to await pick up from the fairground crew, and examined the smiling cub on the front of the one he held before flipping it over to the artist's depiction of an older lion on the back. "Hop in, Punch," he instructed the bunny holding open the van door, "large though you are, you're still the smallest and youngest, therefore assigned the middle seat by default."

His brown ears pointed askew, "Why not just sit in the back, like I did on Saturday?"

"Because there are _authorities_ mingling about and I said so, now get hopping," directed Nick, following to close the door and, when he was securely buckled in, held up the leaflet to study it.

The van revved as Gideon growled along with it, teetering between apprehension and indignation, "I still can't believe that Gravedigger fella came all the way out to Horseshire to finish the job… and was a _sheep_ this whole time!"

Nick cleared his throat significantly, "I think there's something of a misunderstanding here, Bangs. You obviously recognized his voice from the phone call (which was an arrogant folly on his part, not using a scrambler of any kind) so he was certainly that 'Mr. Graves', but the _Gravedigger_ of the ZPD's 'Most Wanted' infamy is, without doubt, a _wolf_."

"But _you_ said Doug was in a disguise," argued Gideon.

" _He_ was," and with a narrative gesture, Nick continued, "Judy and I spent an afternoon studying the single piece of visual evidence on the Gravedigger, pooling our deductive acumen to figure out who, _exactly_ , was in that photo," and softly chuckled, "It was for a bet. Anyway, one of the ideas that we harbored was that it was merely a wolf disguise, or of some other canine species, but after comparing it to snapshots of real wolves, coyotes, _et cetera_ , to mammals in costume with the same position, distance, and lighting, we concluded that he could _only_ be a _real_ wolf. There's a certain way that natural fur reflects light, you see; it's how you can tell if certain, unnamed rugs are fakes."

"Phil saw him, I thought?" asked Bo.

"No offense to that old goat Phil Octaves, but a chance sighting in the dark hours from a mammal _without_ heightened night vision, especially someone who didn't believe it themselves at first, does _not_ fill me with confidence," Nick determined. He lowered the window enough to get some breeze on his sunglasses-covered face as he continued looking at the leaflet as though it were an involving magazine article, even if he was leaning his head on a fist, "Still, Doug met the Gravedigger, whether snout-to-snout or whatever, which means he and his wayward flock are our best chance to catch him."

The rabbit nodded soberly, arms lifted to fold both paws behind his head, "When you get back to the city, of course."

"Of course, I like to keep my caseload to a bare minimum when on vacation," smirked Nick, "So, Punch… what does the Watch _do_ exactly? They clearly don't have authority to arrest anyone - if they _do_ they don't practice it - and yet they're armed to the teeth."

"Hmm?" grunted the bunny, and then pointed upward with a slight circling motion, "Oh, we watch the skies, mostly, so that no one gets grabbed and flown off. It can be a real issue out here, you know."

Some seconds passed before the city-fox responded, and rustled the missing mammal leaflet awkwardly to mutter under his breath, "Could just avoid crop circles and wear tin foil hats, that's what _I_ would do, no need to carry around an arsenal."

Bo flinched, "Say _what_?"

With both paws raised in an explanatory fashion, Nick simply said, " _Aliens_."

" _Birds_ , Gloves, as in real things," sighed the bunny before he held out his paws like talons, "Birds-of-prey, raptors… hawks, mostly, feathery monsters that swoop in and snatch up little bunnies like _that_ ," and snapped his fingers, "The Burrow Watch was a group of birdwatchers back in the day, you see, and could recognize a silhouette in the sky at a glance; that's kind of why the news about Tad Wooler hits so hard, because he was one of the _best_ at that."

"I'm sure," mumbled Nick.

"Yeah…" Bo petered off, "Anyway, they shared their resources with the local rumor mill, elbowed their way into a hotline at the sheriff's office, and over the decades became what we have today."

"They also take care of gators or snakes that find their way into the ponds and swamps dotting the woods," Gideon expanded, "Bag 'em, tag 'em, and send 'em off somewhere _away_ from mammals."

"Rubber bullets and tranqs, then?"

"That's the ticket," smiled Bo.

A brow gently arched, "And how's your aim?"

"Can't hit the broadside of a barn, despite Judy's training…" rued the rabbit, "I'm an extractor. I run in and grab the ones that can't get out fast enough or on their own."

"Oddly courageous for a bu-" and then Nick stopped himself for a tap on his humming chin, "For _anyone_ small and snatchable, really."

Bo cracked his knuckles, though not it seemed for any reason other than to occupy his attention, "It's scary," he admitted, "Almost didn't make it in time once… had to punch a hawk in mid-dive…" and shuddered, "But, I say my wish and it gets me out there well enough."

"'I wish I didn't have to punch this bird in the face'?" grinned Nick.

The rabbit chuckled politely, "No, it goes 'I wish that should I die today, it is in service to others so that they may live; blest be', that's the first one," he said, and held up a finger, before counting off on his next finger, "The second one is 'I wish that should I die tonight, it is peacefully and amongst my loved ones; blest be'," and then crossed the two fingers of that paw, before crossing the two same fingers on his other paw, "And those're the Eternal Wishes of the Hexward Tenets," he beamed and closed his eyes.

The van grew solemn, silence broken only by the dirt and small rocks kicked up under the tires. Green eyes peered through the tinted eyewear to catch sight of the similarly blocked blue of the driver, who only nodded in confirmation at the rabbit between them. Nick crossed his own fingers behind the cover of the leaflet to remember how _he_ made wishes as a kit with that identical gesture, but until then never wondered _why_. To stay the prickling at the back of his skull he… remained absolutely silent in his nonchalance, save for a punctuating grunt of affirmation, and went back to re-examining the leaflet with a straightening snap of his wrist.

"Sorry," said Bo, putting his paws down and kicking his legs idly, continuing in a quiet tone, "Guess it's kind of a _bunny_ thing. Not really for ev'ryone."

Gideon glanced over the anxiously flicking rabbit ears at the hooded, focused green eyes, and as he pulled into the general lot, he shifted gears and sought an opportune place to park, "Starin' awful hard at that flier, Stretch."

"Just curious, is all…" he trailed off.

"Sudden int'rest in the 'Missing Prince'?"

"Not as such," shrugged Nick, "I've seen this artist's rendition before, in fact, it's what I used to get the Lookers out here in the first place, claiming that I saw 'Memphis's fiery mane', and what not. I never really looked at it closely, but what if… What if I spotted him at Lion's Gate yet never realized it… It'd be a smart place for him to hide, assuming he's alive; like a leaf in a forest made of lions," and then sighed languidly, "Except nothing's jumping out at me."

The baker groaned with realization and grinned, "So, more a _deep-seated_ int'rest, knowin' as much about it as you do."

Bo leaned over to analyze the depiction, "He's got the same red mane as Lanny."

"Correct me should I err, Punch, but you sound suspect of something?"

"It's probably nothing, but red hair is a recessive gene, and Mr. King has that fluffy head of it, doesn't he."

"He _does_ …" humored Nick, "Alright, college boy, if a family of lions has both black and red manes, which is more likely to pop up in the cubs?"

"Black," answered Bo with resolution, "Black hair is dominant over red."

Nick grunted and arched his brows, "And what about… _brown_ manes?"

"Brown is _also_ dominant," Bo continued scholarly.

"Then this sketch _is_ romanticized," declared Nick and handed it over so the rabbit might give it a once-over. "Memphis's mane is red and Tycho's is black, so no 'fiery locks' there, and Sarah's side of the family is, to the best of my knowledge, _brown_ manes, so that means Simon's mane is, more likely than not, brown… unless mane genes are solely from the father…?" he asked aloud, but implied towards the rabbit.

"Lionesses pass on 'mane genes' as much as lions do," corrected Bo, "they can even _grow_ manes, however uncommon it might be. I suppose it's _possible_ that Mrs. King carries the recessive red hair, if there's any evidence of it in her relatives. Also, I'm not sure you _quite_ understand how genetics work…"

Crossing his arms and jutting his chin, the taller fox rocked a bit as the van came to a complete stop in the general parking lot, "Not to my recollection, but then again, I never bothered to dig too deep into Sarah's side of things."

"How's about golden manes?" asked Gideon as he turned off the engine.

" _Blonde_ is recessive, like red manes," said the bunny.

" _Huh_ ," mused the baker, "Learn somethin' new ev'ryday."

Bo hopped out after Nick and closed the door without further ado, "Have you followed the 'Missing Prince' thing long, Gloves?"

"Me? No," he dismissed, and pulled out the cloth sack of blueberries to pop one into his mouth, "my parents always seemed worried about it, though, especially Dad."

"I was listening to 'Tim & Bob' when he gave that long rant about all the guff the Kings were gettin', how even the upper crust with all their millions could still lose a cub, and by gum, if the calls didn't come in viewin' them in a new light," Gideon recalled as he locked up the van. He and Nick gave Bo the lead and followed nearby on their way through the parking lot, back to a TBR in full swing.

Though the tents of the TBR were unanimously white, the extravagance of their decoration bewildered and awed, a difference from the day prior akin to stepping out from the Stone Age and into the Renaissance. Vendors peddled their wares with vibrant yet homely signs, naming what they had to boast and who it was which boasted. It seemed every vegetable, nut, and fruit (along with a meager array of choice insects, for the exotic) could be roasted, deep fried, candied, or some combination thereof. And if a bunny or hare behind a counter did not draw the nose and wet the palate with their delicacies, then it was a craft, contest, or game of a different sort that entranced the eyes and ears. Gadgets and gizmos aplenty, whozits and whatzits galore, all announced in a rambunctious symphony of merry life that neither quelled nor quaked at recent news.

Amongst the veritable sea of long-ears walked mammals of sparing variety, chief were the horses, whose presence melded with the rabbits into a breathtaking seamlessness, like a ship and its wake. Their purpose in the Tri-Burrow Reunion focused more, it seemed, as wardens or caretakers while the lapine hosts ran hither and thither in ardent micromanaging and hyper vigilance. It harkened back - as the TBR always had - to the days of yore so marked by the joining sigil of Bunnyburrow and Horseshire: the rabbit's foot inside the horse's hoofprint. It represented the voluminous luck which sprung forth from the cooperation and cohabitation of the two species, a symbiotic bond of protection and production enjoyed by all others who lived in Bunnyburrow. Present also, as a meager snapshot in an otherwise grand album, were bovines lowing with joy as they rode the tilt-a-whirl, a pair of bears sitting for a caricature portrait, some deer collecting their hard-earned prizes at ring-toss, and a ferret purchasing a caramel apple with chopped peanuts.

"Ahh, Tim O'Nare…" reminisced Nick as his eyes drifted skyward to the colorful towers and arches of balloons sponsoring the braided downpour of rainbow streamers, popping a fresh, crisp blueberry into his awaiting gob (and, of course, allocating a paw-full each to his compatriots), "If ever there were an exemplar of the meerkat species… he would _not_ be it, but still very fun to listen to, as far as shock jocks go; and of course, the comedic stylings of Bob Pigg rounds out their on-air partnership rather well by appealing to the adolescent portion of their audience."

Gideon (distracted by the wonderful onslaught of new culinary smells) continuously returned his attention to untying and re-trying the quick-escape knot, glancing up only to keep pace with the other two, "Uncle John must have a soft spot of missin' youngins, huh?"

Coinciding with a grunt of consideration, Nick teetered his head one way and then the other to roll the idea about therein, "Perhaps, he always found that children enjoyed his stories the most. However, I think his connection with Memphis King plays a bigger part in it," he offhandedly baited. Nick kept strolling (subtly strutting) even though both Bo and Gideon stopped to gawk, allowing himself only another step and held the next halfway through, setting the heel down to turn upon it in a suave pivot, "Was it something I said?"

"Uncle John _knows_ Memphis King?" choked Gideon, both in surprise and because he managed to tangle his thumb into the necktie.

"Holy shitake mushrooms…" whispered Bo.

"Oh, did I not mention that? Must have slipped my mind," endeared Nick, and shrugged the smuggest, most feigned innocence he could muster, "But yes, I happen to know for a fact that Mr. Pridelands himself has a bespoke John Wilde in his wardrobe, and I would hazard a guess more than one. Funny story behind it, too.

"At the time, Dad was still apprenticing under an old tailor from old money that thought _way_ too highly of himself and certain… ' _antiquated_ methods', as my Dad would say. Memphis brought him in to get some adjustments done and Dad's task was to write down the measurements, but in the middle of it all, a phone call came for the tailor," Nick began with his audience of two in tow (even though Bo still walked in front).

The rabbit looked over his shoulder, "The tailor _didn't_ take the call, of course."

"He _did_ ," Nick revealed to disbelief, "It was someone from City Hall, if memory serves, so he couldn't very well let such a client slip by. Gracious as his host was, the tailor excused himself and as _soon_ as he left the room, the apprenticing fox pulled up a chair…"

"That was awful considerate of him," grinned Gideon, having sufficed to slip the necktie into his pocket so that he could listen to the story.

" _Ahh_ , but it wasn't for the lion," Nick informed to confusion, "Bangs already knows this, but John Wilde is something of an acrobat and his _favorite_ act is walking a chair across the floor while balanced on its back. With Memphis King being such a mountainous individual, my Dad danced the lion's furniture around him for the extra height and _corrected_ every measurement the tailor already did, plus all the ones not yet gotten. It was the most entertaining adjustment Mr. King ever had, and as the old fox tells it, his most comfortable fit."

"I guess they became friends after that, didn't they?" wondered Bo as he directed them both towards a fenced off area. It was adjacent to a length of cleared field and packed ground for the strength-proving spectacle of hauling heavy-duty farm equipment, wherein its industrial-power engine became a hindrance rather than anything helpful. The tradition of tractor-pulling began in Horseshire as a means of showing which swell-headed colt (or filly, in some cases) could better boast their might, speed, and endurance, and has since progressed to others willing to represent their own species until for the first time a singular rabbit, Bo Briar, proved what he was capable of (if in the lowest weight bracket); save the last part, this was all detailed in proper historical flair on a woodcarving someone thought appropriate to post at the entrance.

Nick, knowing that the end of a story he enjoyed hearing (and was frequently disbelieved whenever he told it as a teenager) was almost upon him whether he liked it or not, hurried himself along, "It was kept professional, but their connection actually stems from Simon himself. Apparently, it's something of a _faux pas_ to bypass your tailor in favor of his apprentice; so instead, a suit was made for the cub."

"And _that_ wasn't any kind of _faux pas_?" the bunny challenged.

"The old tailor didn't suit children so he _happily_ diverted such a task onto his junior, and it worked out better than expected. Dad's bespoke suits are designed for the rough-and-tumble (I think he actually had to wrestle the measurements out of Simon), since his segway into sewing was his nasty habit of leaving the house in the morning with freshly mended clothes, and returning in the evening with barely a scratch on him save for the numerous new openings in his shirts, and long story short, became a tailor after finding out how good he looked in a suit."

Gideon barked a jolly laugh, "That reminds of me Ma, how _she_ tried to teach _me_ to stitch, but instead I jus' left my shirt at home when I went out to play; _that_ didn't last long, though," he chuckled.

" _Sneaky_. Anyway," Nick continued as they entered the event already in progress, "he wanted to make one of his own, and went to half-a-dozen tailors before _finally_ convincing that eccentric, old coot to let him tag along and do most of the work for him. After almost a decade, he and Mom finally scraped together enough money (along with the help of a friend and a most _generous_ tip from one Mr. King for making Simon's suit) for collateral on a loan to open up  Suitopia; it was after that milestone that Memphis got one for himself and the rest is history."

"Alright, guys, you two stay out of trouble while I go take care of this," said Bo in his usual, humble, cheery self, and before he turned to darn near _strut_ into the staging area, added, "Time to put on a good show. Wish me luck!"

"Well, no _wonder_ Uncle John was so worried when Simon King went missin'," remarked Gideon as he and Nick walked off to the side, "I don't know much about makin' clothes, but from what little I seen of Ma fittin' stuff for Pa, it's something of a… personal thing, isn't it?"

Nick flicked his ears about at either high or spattering applause the earthen-brown rabbit received as he and Gideon occupied an empty stretch of fence near a connecting shack covering a gate, so that they might lean on its chest-high, lower rung. "Yes, you all are sure a fickle lot, unless I'm missed my mark on the definition of 'cursed'," he critiqued under his breath, and then mused, "Only if you want _quality_. Change of subject: I notice the harnesses attached to those tractors. Is that something normal on a farm, or…?"

Gideon flicked his own ears, but not to gauge the audience, "Well, _yeah_ , how else d'you expect plows get pulled?"

"I would think the _tractors_ did most of that."

The farm-fox laughed and clapped the city-fox's back, "I s'pose farmin' started when they invented the engine, huh? _Nah_ ," he dismissed, "Maybe it's weird on the outside lookin' in, but hookin' up and plowing is as 'normal' as you can get. Sure, you got hoes and diggers making the rows all right, but when you got a few acres of lands to go through you strap in yer strongest, take turns with the next and so on until the work's done. Horses are the best at it jus' like bunnies're the best at farmin', but I've done my share too, so long as I got to keep my shirt on."

"I _see_ …" pondered Nick, "So… you're familiar with this whole… tractor pull spiel, then?"

"I seen it; from afar, mostly, and I don't listen to all the fancy rules because they're boring," he said and generally pointed out the horses that were already covered in a sheen of sweat, as well as a few others including a moose, a rhino, a koala, and a leopard, all looking like out-of-town visitors showing what they were made of with test-of-strength games. "It's a sort-of big thing at Carrot Days, and best I know, Bo's the lightest that ever competed in the pull itself, but wins his group each time. I gotta give it to him, he is one _determined_ bunny. I guess they already did the heavies while we were talkin' with the sheriff, and now they're onto the lights.

"Y'see, here they're doing 'warm-up' stuff by liftin' things and puttin' on a show for the crowd. Ain't nowhere near as impressive as those big mammals over there, but that don't mean they ain't strong in their own right," chuckled Gideon, and then leaned in discreetly, "And jus' as a heads-up, a 'cursed' bunny ain't something that's bandied about like it's nothin'. Not ev'ryone sees Bo in a bad light; heck, even the Hopps house is kinda split on them that're 'cursed'."

"...Fair point, I'll keep that in mind," Nick responded, "The last thing I need is to give rabbits another reason to dislike me."

Gideon snerked, "Welcome to the club."

"So… Bo's undefeated, I hear?" the taller fox continued casually as he scratched his neck.

The stouter fox grunted and shrugged, "If you mean he gets to that line faster than anyone else, then yeah," and pointed towards a thick, bright white border in the middle of a long stretch of open area. "From what I hear he gets some 'repeat customers', so to speak, and if all else fails, he pulls against a group of bunnies or his previous time. Oh, looks like they're bringin' in the smaller tractors now."

"I think 'smaller' isn't _quite_ the correct word, but I see where you're coming from. Can _anyone_ compete in this?"

"Ayeup, tha's what makes it an attraction, of sorts."

"Visitors and locals alike?"

"Why, lookin' to give it a shot, Stretch?" teased Gideon and poked at the lankier body.

A scoffing raspberry paired with a dismissive push of the air answered initially, "Been there, done that," and whipped out his first place prize from the pie-eating contest with a casual grin. "See? Already earned _my_ bragging rights on Bo, but from the way I hear it you have a chance to give him a _second_ second place," Nick pointed out, and indeed, the tails of the rabbit's red ribbon poked out the back pocket of his shorts from down in the staging area.

The unspoken challenge was loud and clear to the stouter fox, and he shifted in his leaning beneath its implication, " _Nah_ ," he once more dismissed, "I ain't got _any_ kinda chance 'gainst Bo, doughy sort like m'self…" he petered off with a scratch to his belly.

Nick thumbed the ribbon in plain view, "You've probably thought about it before, I reckon, tossing your hat into the ring. After all, you act like you don't care about this tractor pull, and _yet_ seem to know enough to participate," he said, holding up the bright blue prize as though it were a gem. Gideon's tail swept in agitation as his own bright blues eyed the frilly medallion, before they turned away in a resolute _harrumph_. The glittering, gold letters inched into the baker's personal bubble until it and the ribbon which boasted it hovered at the very tips of his cheek-fuzz, and so mocked in a high, whiny tone, "I _guess_ you could always try again _next_ time, but it will _never_ be quite as cool as _me_ ; will it?"

The resolve wavered and waned into a sidelong glance with a gnawed bottom lip. Gideon pushed the ribbon aside to stand upright, shoulders back and chest out (gut sucked in), "This can't be any worse than getting shot at," he declared conversationally before marching towards the showboating rabbit, hiding well the crack in his voice.

"That's the spirit," Nick commended, punctuating his pep talk with a chuckle while tucking his own blue ribbon back into his fanny pack. From his vantage point against that remote fence, it was plain to the city-fox that his cousin's blazen approach upon the earthen-brown rabbit turned and quieted many of the local heads, and got a few chuckling comments from others, as well. Alone, Nick hoisted himself up to sit on the horizontal beam and lean against the fence post, eyelids heavier than they'd been all day, _Should get me a few minutes of napping in before I'm needed for anything else_ , he yawned, utilizing one of the many talents honed while living and working on the streets of Zootopia: sleeping in any position, circumstance, and for any length of time available.

Speaking subjectively, Nick's eyes were closed an instant before a distant gong and cheering sounded the start of the tractor pull, and so stir him from his ephemeral slumber. He then heard the juicy munching and smelled the sweetness of someone eating a caramel apple nearby as a ferret sat on the fence mere inches from the end of his footpads. His legs dangling idly, sporting a tie-dye t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting, cargo-pocketed slacks with holes in the knees and frayed cuffs at the heels; his amber eyes swiveled behind the dark "mask" of his fur to glance at the waking fox as he swallowed his bite of candied treat. "How're you staying up like that, are your pants glued to the fence?" he asked, gesturing with the almost finished dowel of the fairground snack.

Nick covered his mouth to yawn before letting his own leg swing down in equally idle motion, "Don't be ridiculous," he said disinterestedly, "I keep a gyro in my pocket for balance."

"Oh, of course…" replied the ferret, tail sweeping behind him as he munched, watching the two competitors in the not-too-distant strength challenge, before adding, "I didn't expect to find you _here_ , of all places."

"On a fence?"

The ferret shrugged with a smirk, "Well, you _do_ tend to not bother with decisions, Nick, but I meant out in Bunnyburrow; what with your allergies."

Nick shimmied to get comfy, eyes closing again as his paws folded on his trim stomach, "Believe it or not, I'm out here with Judy, even though she's a bit… preoccupied with bunny business at the moment. So, I'm catching z's. Why're _you_ out here?" came the smiling response.

With the caramel apple finished, the ferret crossed one leg over the other and held the dowel between his teeth so that both his paws might hold the fence he reclined on, "I came over thinking someone was signaling for help, but turns out it was only your shirt," he grinned, and followed up at the next logical question, "I stayed because I wanted to see if you'd fall off."

"Would you have helped?"

" _Pfft_ , the grass is so soft here, you could drop glass and it would be fine, but I would've taken a picture, maybe woke you up."

"How altruistic of you, Travis," huffed Nick, and pivoted about from where he sat to set himself down on the other side of the fence, so that he might lean forward onto it.

Travis followed suit, also watching the contest as he moved the stick from one side of his mouth to the other, before holding it between his fingers like a pencil, "I'm out here taking care of my mom's fish while she and everyone else is off on that cruise," he stated without much enthusiasm, "High-maintenance salt-water fish, exotic stuff. But, I could hardly let something like the TBR pass me by without going at least once, so I took a break from fish-sitting to _peruse_."

The fox smirked as he looked out at the now shirtless Bo and Gideon hauling farm-equipment down a lane for the amusement of others, "See anything you like?"

The ferret scoffed, "Good sir, I'll have you know I am _spoken_ for… but if I weren't, well…"

"How _is_ Quinton these days?"

"Getting his quills done so he doesn't tear up the couch, bed… _everything_ again; lengthy process, you know how it is," and shifted tone as well as subject, "We missed you at the theatre last week?"

" _Yeah_ … my bad," groaned Nick, "And I was so looking forward to seeing you in a lizard costume alongside a cross-dressing warrior from an ancient empire," he then smiled, ears flicking as the gong sounded again to end the tractor pull amongst cheers from the audience.

"Dragon, _dragon_ , not 'lizard'," corrected Travis, "I'd hate to have to do that… _tongue_ thing. It went rather well, though, so no complaints otherwise. By the way, do you know that fox down there racing against Bo?" he asked.

Nick's eyebrow quirked severely, despite his best efforts to remain neutral, "You _don't_?"

Travis shrugged, " _Thought_ I did, but the fox I knew would chuck his pants before his shirt," he petered off wistfully, "So… can't say for certain," and bit down on the candied remains of the dowel again, "I thought I saw him walking off from here, and figured him one of your many acquaintances, if not a friend."

 _Really…_ pondered Nick, his tail swaying like a metronome, "As it so happens, he's my cousin and a local boy."

"Shut up, he is _not_ ," Travis beamed and laughed, pivoting to lean sideways on the fence with a paw against his hip, "'Local boy', huh? Let's see…" and tapped the dowel on his lip as he glanced up in thought, "He's… a _Tweed_ , one of Tod and Vixey's sons?" guessed the ferret.

"No, not a Tweed… but you're close," mused Nick _._

"'Not a Tweed, but close'…" was repeated, Travis now leaning back against the fence and popping the stick in his mouth to gnaw on it, arms crossed, "The… Whitends? I don't think they had a farm, they lived in the apartments in Preds' Corner itself," and looked hopefully to Nick.

Nick only shook his head, grin kept in check, "You'll never guess," he said matter-of-factly.

"There was that… what was her name… a family of foxes, foreigners that lived here a few years… the Lamours?"

"Would you like to phone a friend?"

Travis turned back around with arms aloft in good-humored defeat, "Fine, I give up; who is he? Probably from the Honey Hills or some remote corner of Horseshire."

"Like I said, you were close with the Tweeds, only a few houses down, in fact," Nick explained, and gestured out towards the stout baker already unhooked from the tractor, "Okay, you ready for this? Gideon. Grey."

"Yeah-huh," Travis vehemently doubted, and jut a thumb out towards the distant fox while knitting his brow at the nearer one, " _He_ is naked from the waist up, something Gideon hasn't been in over a _decade_ -and-a- _half_ ," and then crossed his arms to huff, "So, who is he _really_?"

"He really _is_ ," Nick responded calmly, offering his own unsmiling but patient face, and stood upright, "and I'll prove it to you."

A scoff came abruptly, " _This_ should be good. Are you going to go into one of your… 'chain of deductions', _Basil of Baker Street_?" he said not unkindly, "And prove beyond a shadow of a doubt about how that obviously _is_ Gideon Grey, even though I can see that he obviously _isn't_?"

Putting his fingers to his mouth, Nick let out a high, shrill whistle, "Hey Bangs!" he called with a wave. The stouter fox could be seen excusing himself before hiking back.

"Cute," said an unamused ferret, arms still crossed, and then shrugged with an unimpressed gesture of a paw he pulled from his elbow, "but that's _not_ Gideon."

Gideon paused _en route_ to block the sun from his eyes before his face visibly brightened, and so began to jog.

"That's not Gideon," Travis repeated, if less confident than before, candied dowel dropping from his mouth.

"Travis!" called Gideon as he waved on approach.

"That's not Gideon!" Travis squeaked to futilely convince _himself_ , and flinched in an attempt to escape only to find that Nick's encircling tail blocked him surer than a concrete barrier. The ferret gawked at the shirtless, sweaty fox now on the other side of the fence, doubled over and gripping his knees to catch his breath; this provided the stage actor an opportunity to cover up his world-shattered shock as best he could.

Softly heaving and panting, Gideon did stand upright at last, "As I live and breathe, Travis Blackfoot!" he finally managed, grin as wide as possible, "Ya'know, I keep hearing you're in town ev'ry once-in-a-while, but it feels like we're always missin' each other," and sniffed with a rub of his nose, beaming still, "I guess that's a bit my fault, losin' track of time as I do."

"Hey, Gideon, hi," Travis said weakly, but putting up a _strong_ front of emotional stability and nonchalance, "Yeah… I guess we've just been… busy?"

With a cheery grunt and a hearty, "C'mere!", the stouter fox lunged through the spacious fence gap to grapple a still dazed ferret, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug with such an immense joviality that he guffawed, unaware of any cringing from the huggee.

"Okay, break it up," laughed the taller fox, clapping his cousin's bare back before withdrawing his paw in disgust and an appropriately exaggerated grimace at his palm.

When Gideon set the ferret down, he took a step back and ran a paw through his bangs, "Gosh, I haven't seen you since…" and glanced down in a momentary recollection of lament, before brightening up again, "Ya'know, since our school days. Word is you're an actor, right?"

"Y-Yeah…" replied Travis, staggering but catching himself, amber eyes never leaving Gideon, "That's… it's a living."

" _Eww_ , you're all slimy with effort," Nick rebuked, utilizing his bandanna for its originally intended purpose of a handkerchief before tucking it into a pocket, "Go… towel off or something," he then instructed with a dismissing flick of his wrist.

Gideon touched a paw to his own chest and examined the matting of sweat with a single awkward chuckle, "Oh yeah, I should prob'ly do that before I go huggin' anyone else, huh?" and rubbed the back of his head with an apologetic smile, "Okay, I'll be _right back_ , so you don't go anywhere," and briskly jogged away with a sweep of his tail, sparing a quick grin over his shoulder.

Travis stared at the brick-red back, his claws digging grooves into the wooden boundary before he stumbled away from Nick, who immediately pursued as they strode into the shadow of the nearby shack covering the fence's gate.

"Whoa, hey, Travis, I know he was musky, but-"

" _Shut up_ ," barked the ferret, stopping to brace himself against the shack's outer wall, trembling as he balled one paw into a fist. His entire face was scrunched, and as his ear flicked he looked to Nick with scorn, "What?" he demanded, "Don't you have somewhere _else_ to be, other pathetic displays to criticize? I can't be the only show in town."

Nick lifted his sunglasses and quirked a brow, crossing his arms and preparing to speak, but was cut off almost immediately, hardly getting a syllable out.

"You…" accused Travis, if only to stop whatever it was the fox planned to say, but lingered as his face combined guilt and the disbelief of being betrayed, "You _knew_ , didn't you? That's why you _really_ befriended me those months ago, that's why you're _really_ here in Bunnyburrow, because you found out somehow…" and then spat, " _Didn't_ you?"

 _Great…_ groaned Nick and rolled his eyes, "You'll need to be a _bit_ more specific with whatever you're pinning on me."

The ferret turned full on him, chest heaving behind its tie-dye veil, paw loosely holding the shack wall as he scowled, "I bet he isn't _really_ your cousin, is he? That was a ploy so he'd trust you and divulge _everything_. I'm sure Judy told you what happened at Carrot Days, but then you kept on digging, kept on prying…" His fingers fell limp from the wood as he took a step back from Nick's masterful nonchalance, his _own_ composure showing its cracks as he glared, "So, what happens now, retribution for transgressions as a kit? Is that what they're sending the ZPD out for these days?" When no answer but frosty disapproval came, Travis riled all the worse into full dramatic gesticulation, his voice rising clearer and clearer, "They _laughed_ , Nick, the whole of the city laughed and _scorned_ when a fox became a cop, from the marshes to the tundra, from the desert to the meadow, from the Underland to City Hall… but they, the masses, don't know the true _terror_ of a fox in uniform, do they?

"No… it's not only because a fox is part of the aptly and contrivedly named ' _shifties'_ , we small predators who have only our wits and shadows to protect us; not strength, not numbers, _nothing_ but the cracks into which we crawl like insects," he said in a building tempo of passion before calming, cooling, "It's because foxes aren't like the others into which they are grouped, are they? It's _just_ like my gramma said: we ferrets… we 'mind our own business', it's our credo, and are not as hated as foxes are. Raccoons are not as hated, even though they are seen as scavengers and thieves. Not wildcats, despite their assumed trickery and ferocity. Not even weasels. _Certainly_ not otters. _Foxes_ are hated. _Foxes_ are the betrayers. _Foxes_ are the ones you can't let out of your sight…"

Travis approached a statuesque Nick, trembling paws reaching up to unnecessarily straighten the luau shirt's collar with as much poise as he could still muster, "In days long past, us ' _shifties'_ did what we had to to get by… to _survive_ in a world that even bunnies, squirrels, and rodents knew greater safety than we. And we did, Nick, we _did_ … by any means necessary… _We_ played the game. Foxes didn't. Foxes _couldn't_. They… _you_ went against the rules and played your _own_ game. You boast about how you 'don't lie or keep secrets', but it's because you _can't_ , because you discover terrible truths that are _never_ meant to see the light of day and then you _flaunt_ them… You take away the shadows that protect us… _that's_ why you can't be trusted… even by the untrustworthy.

"And now? There's a fox in authority," he laughed a hollow, pained laugh and stepped away, paws out in grandiose demonstration, "It must scare _a lot_ of mammals… because they don't know what a fox will _do_ with that power. So, I ask again… what happens now?"

Nick's finger tapped on his arm as he listened to the exposition, and then he put his paws together and steepled his indexes to touch under his nose, "What 'happens' is I ask about this… ' _game'_ you speak of. Does it have anything to do with Grav and his family?"

Travis, as an expressive individual onstage - and in times of passion, offstage - projected his emotions expertly… and the soul-crushed transition from indignation to despair would have formed a tear in the eye of the most callous critic. Indeed, it seemed that the fox drew back one of those shadows the ferret wrapped himself in, and his theatrical bluster was navigated with insulting ease. "…Grav?"

"Hopps, yes."

"Wh-… Why do you think he has anything to do with this?"

Nick's paws folded behind his back, "I'll sum things up for you: We - Judy, Gideon, and I - encountered Grav last night. In the exchange, we pushed each other's buttons and he jabbed at Gideon about how _you_ were in his employ to grease the wheels of a schoolyard bully."

Travis expressed his disquieting, muted shock profusely.

"This brought up a few concerns for me, as you can imagine," said Nick, and paced a path around a petrified Travis, "Number one: Gideon insists you and he were best friends, and after what I just saw, I am inclined to believe that; judging by the redness in your ears, I think it was something a bit _more_ on your side of things," to which Travis clapped his paws over both ears to see if they were still warm and shied away, if darting glances back at Nick, who then continued, "Number two: both Grav and Judy imply that Gideon was a loveable little scamp before he became a bully, but when he turned it was _nasty_ and was kept that way until Carrot Days.

"Finally, number three: I heard a _very_ traditional rabbit today mention an 'ancient pact' between wolves and ravens, and with your spiel about a 'game' and 'rules' - which, by the way, I _thought_ only happened in the _city_ ," he emphasized with harsh significance, "I can't help but wonder if there is some sort of… ' _pact'_ involving ferrets and rabbits, something antiquated but that still holds water, something that could be called upon to handle things, shall we say, ' _discreetly'_? Now, these concerns of mine lead me to a single conclusion based on my previous line of work: the Greys were _hustled_ , in which the mark and goal was Gideon," and stopped pacing to stand before the ferret, "And that, Travis, seems to be the only part of what I said that doesn't surprise you."

The ferret panted, holding his head as though afflicted by a dizzy spell, "The Great _Fox_ Detective, indeed…" he muttered, "I can see why foxes were thought witches in the past."

"Yes, I'm amazing," Nick said offhandedly with a wheeling of his paw, "Let's get back on track."

"How did you know to find me, Nick?" asked Travis, "Did you wear that shirt to draw me in?"

Another roll of his eyes and a sigh, Nick obliged to answer, "No, I can't have said for certain I'd find you here… I would've expected you in the stands as opposed to this outskirt seating, and rather _hoped_ to wait until I returned to the city to ask you about what happened with Gideon back at Woodlands. Regardless, I was sure you would've been willing to answer."

Indeed, the amber eyes seemed willing to talk, if after one more inquiry, "What made you think I would answer you at all?"

Nick shrugged with not only his shoulders, but also with the corners of his lips, the arch of his eyebrow, and the tips of his ears, "Because Gideon was once more hustled into nefarious activities - which we excitedly thwarted, by the way, remind me to go into details later - but _you_ weren't the one to get him to do it this time, which… well, if a con worked once, then there's no reason it shouldn't work again, right? Predictability is one of the many tools under the hustler's belt. So, I made an educated guess that you felt remorse, and wouldn't mind chatting."

Travis heaved, his paw gripping at the tie-dye shirt, ears flicking to check for anyone's approach. He gulped, nodded, and at Nick's unspoken invitation, sat beside him against the wall of the shack and hugged his knees, "Fine… I guess I got myself into this with my little… _tantrum_. Someone came by one day… back when I was still a kit. It was a bunny, but it wasn't Grav or either of his parents, someone I didn't recognize then and wouldn't today. There… _is_ a sort of agreement that weasels started, and my family was big on it so many generations ago we thought its practice six-feet-under… My dad wanted nothing to do with it, but the farm belonged to my too-bitter-to-die gramma. It was a simple request… an _odd_ request: all I had to do was egg Gideon on and I earned four years in any university without paying a _dime_. That was a golden ticket for a family of farm-ferrets; so long as we didn't ask questions.

"And it's not like anyone got _hurt_ … not _really_. We were too clever for that… never leave any lasting marks, scare them too much to tattle," he rubbed his wrist and hung his head in shame, "It was _easy_ … it was _fun_ … I had to report back to Grav every now and then, so he could tell me what I needed to do to keep Gideon on edge, to provoke his 'predator nature'… When we got older, though, I started having doubts…" He raised his eyes again, "Gideon protected me, Nick, he looked out for me, and I looked out for him… even if I began to regret everything we did I didn't want it to _change_ , not if it meant we couldn't be friends anymore."

Caressing his chin in thought, Nick utilized the momentary silence, "You got into the con-artist gig young and perhaps weren't fully taught the cardinal rule: don't fall for your own scam… or in your case, fall for your _mark_."

Ears went warm and red once again as Travis shrunk in stature, "It was… a confusing time for me. Gideon was the best friend I ever had, and I never understood that I shouldn't _actually_ grow to care for him… but I did. After Carrot Days, we got word that the job was finished, and that when I graduated high school I could continue my education however I saw fit… I was so happy, because it meant I could tell Gideon how I _really_ felt. But then… they took him away," choked Travis, and gripped his arm tighter to tremble, "He was gone for three weeks and I missed him _so_ much… When he got back…" and slumped against Nick, "No… it was like he never _did_ come back… The next time I saw him, he was bundled up in a hoodie and a turtleneck even though it was the middle of summer, sitting with his back wedged between the roots of a tree, whittling away at a block of wood until it was a splinter.

"I had it all planned out, how I would tell him at our favorite swimming spot, or where we picked the juiciest blackberries, or the whistling tree trunk… but he didn't want to do any of that. I tried to get him to take off the jacket by pulling on the hood, but then he _screamed_ at me, and stared at me like I was some kind of _monster_ … I don't remember all that we yelled at each other that day, until he told me to walk away first." Travis's voice went low as he rolled his head to rest on the fox's shoulder, eyes closed, "He said he would never show me his back again…"

 _I see…_ "Which, if I remember my mustelid culture correctly, is _the_ sign of trust."

Travis opened his eyes, but he did not seem to focus on anything in particular, "I knew there was no hope for 'us' anymore, that somehow he found out what I did, about how I sold him out, so I tried to forget that I ever knew a 'Gideon Grey'… it was easier when I went to Brackwater High and he into the Lost Boys… they're a remedial class. I made what amends I could with Judy and the others he and I tormented at Woodlands; I thought things were going well for a while." His chin trembled as his whole body shook when he looked up at Nick, "And then the PredaTherp scandal broke, and all it meant when a predator went to 'therapy'… no one believed me, but I _knew_ that's what happened to Gideon. I… I finally understood why he hated me _so much_ … I was sick for a _week_ after that…" Travis struggled to sit up and wipe his eyes on his wrists, "I couldn't stay in Bunnyburrow anymore, so when I graduated I went to  Julliaardvark in Gnu York after collecting my Turkish Delights; and no, Nick, the irony _isn't_ lost on me. The rest is, as they say, history."

"Until a few weeks ago," prompted the fox, _Around the time Tad approached Gideon about hosting a pie-eating contest for the TBR._

A pause weighed on the bewildered, suspicious ferret, before he sighed his defeat and nodded, "… _Yes_. I thought it all behind me up until a few weeks ago when I received a call about a 'job'," and flicked his fingers in an air-quote, "The theatre was going through a dry spell at the time, so I was willing to hear it out… but at the mention of Gideon's name, I hung up immediately. No matter what they were paying, I just couldn't hurt him again." After a minute more, Travis seemed to have collected himself, running a paw through the short fur on his head, "In retrospect, I wish I got a name or something from the guy, maybe let the police know or warn Gideon about any trouble coming his way… but that would mean calling him."

"Heaven forbid."

"I was prepared to meet him again, Nick, I really was," Travis insisted, "I was prepared for profanity, screaming, sobbing, glaring, silence, claws… But when he _hugged_ me, and laughed? What… what could I _do_?" he pleaded, and then wrung his paws together, "I guess shouldn't have taken it out on _you_ , though. So… sorry."

Nick scratched behind an ear as he reached around to grasp the ferret's shoulder, "Don't worry about it, but I imagine you'll want to scamper before Gideon gets back, so I'll leave you with this one pearl: we both love Gideon, and weren't there to protect him when he needed us most, but we're here for him _now_. How's that work for you?"

The amber eyes, a bit brighter than they were before, scanned the fox half-embracing him, "I guess you really _are_ his cousin, otherwise I've been reading you _all_ wrong in the short time we've known each other."

Nick smirked, "I really am his cousin, and I challenge _anyone_ to get a proper read on me," and clapped Travis's back before standing to usher him off, "Now mosey along, I'll cover for you."

Mildly staggered as he too stood, Travis took a few steps forward before looking over his shoulder, "…Thanks, Nick, I guess you never realize how much you have on your chest until you get it off. I have some… thinking to do… and fish to feed. See you later," and so retreated to the tree line, before stopping one last time and rubbing his arm, "I'd… appreciate it if you… if you didn't…"

"Travis, I'll impart another pearl of fox wisdom unto you: avoid situations with complicated explanations, most of all, having to explain your own secrets _after_ they've been found out."

"…I'll keep that in mind," the ferret said, smiling some before disappearing.

Safely alone not only from anyone in his immediate vicinity, but from anyone remotely visible, Nick collapsed against the shady wall of the shack, heaving and panting and holding his head, _That was a mistake… I shouldn't have brought Gid in on that, but what's done is done. At least he seemed happy… and I guess Travis got some absolution in exchange for information, so win-win-win._ He propped up his arms on his knees and breathed deep several times, _Maybe I should follow medical advice for once in my life and get some proper rest. Like right here, in this shady patch of grass… My gosh, it really is super soft… maybe I can close my eyes for a just bit- No! No, bad Nicky. I still have to cover for Travis, and then I can sleep._ With a lurch, he made to stand up again but fell forward onto Gideon's awaiting back.

"And _hup_ ," said Gideon as he hoisted the sack of flour that was his cousin, paws securely hooked under the taller fox's knees.

Nick grunted his understandable confusion, finding it a staunch challenge to keep his eyelids up, much less his head, and therefore powerless to prevent it from resting against the _other_ head nearby. "I… what…?" asked Nick, attempting to peer through his leaden haze at the fact that he was ambulant, yet immobile.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," said Bo, a strong mitt clapping to the lankier back, "Found you napping face down in the grass," he explained, "A _very_ compromising position, Gloves, someone could've walked up and snagged your phone or wallet but you'd _never_ be the wiser until it was too late. It's a good thing _we_ found you first."

 _Sweet cheese and crackers…_ dreaded Nick, conjuring up one of his most self-chastising admonishments, "Okay, thanks, but I can walk just fine," he slurred.

"Before that, try lifting your tail," challenged Bo. When an efforted grunt was all the fox could manage to keep his crimson bushiness from dragging, the rabbit reached his conclusion, "That's what I thought. _You_ are going to the first aid tent for some _proper_ sleep; doctor's orders."

"Lanny's a _nurse_ ," he argued, or tried to.

"Close enough, and _he_ got _his_ sleep before pouncing off to save your sorry tail, so you're gonna do the same," rebutted Gideon, "But since you're awake, you can tell me what happened to Travis. You didn't scare him off, did ya'?"

 _Ugh, this is high school all over again… and the police academy… and that one time at Haymarket…_ "Fish," muttered Nick.

"'Fish'?"

" _Exotic_ fish, high-maintenance… Look, I have his number and will give it to you later, okay?"

Gideon scoffed and then berated Bo, "I _told_ you we didn't need all that rigamarole with the pictures! Now thanks to them, I missed catching up with someone I haven't seen in _years_."

"Documentation is _crucial_ in these events," Bo shot back, "Besides, you know where he lives, so just go visit him next chance you get."

"Well… I _guess_ ," he accepted with a huff, before berating Nick, "And _you_ stop squirming, unless you wanna be dragged by your tail."

 _It really would be like Haymarket, then…_ "Fine, fine, I'll behave." With that, Nick sagged on the shirted, less sweaty back which he was carried, pressing closer so that his arms weren't propped up so uncomfortably and bobbing along in front of him, like the sort of shambling ghoul that he most certainly felt, but rather let to dangle down Gideon's chest and cross over to a loose hold. It was difficult to stay awake, much less alert, but Nick gradually conceded to the idea that any attempts on his well-being would be thusly countered by the two burly tractor-pullers ready to protect him, and allowed himself to relax.

Gideon grunted and shrugged to get a better grip, "I said stop _squirming_ , not stop _living_."

"Make up your mind, _sheesh_."

"It's that tent right there, Hoss," Bo pointed out, "I'll go on ahead and make sure there's a bed for him," and so ran off with a quick pitter-patter.

At the groaning chuckle of his valiant steed, Nick couldn't help but smirk, "'Hoss', huh."

"Yeah…" admitted Gideon, the roll of his eyes nearly audible, "I'm not sure Bo quite gets the whole 'nickname' thing, but he was tellin' other bunnies that it's what foxes _do_ , and I guess they think he's a 'fox expert', so it's sticking. Dunno where he got such an idea."

Nick recalled when he churned the bunny's mental gears after teasing him with the implied spiritual weight of nicknames _,_ "What a mystery it is."

"I had to come up with one for _him_ , of course…"

"And?"

Gideon sighed louder, "I went with 'Chuck'."

"Esther called him that yesterday."

"I know, I know, but he seemed happy enough with it, and now _I_ gotta call him 'Chuck'."

"I mean… you can still call him 'Bo', if you want. Nicknames aren't legally binding… at least I don't _think_ they are. They _aren't_ , right?"

"They might be for _bunnies_ , but he'll be expecting it ev'rytime he calls me 'Hoss', and tha's what jiggers me most. I s'pose I could've come up with something _better_ , but we just finished the tractor pull and that was the best I had."

"How'd that go, anyway?"

"Oh, I _won_!" Gideon beamed, "And I got me a pretty blue ribbon in my pocket to prove it, too."

"I knew you could do it," Nick commended drowsily, "but for the record, _how_ did you win, exactly?"

"Well, you know what I said was the finish line? It's actually what they call a ' _concession_ line', because it's a race for _distance_ ; they re-explained the rules to me afterwards. Bo gets to the line first to discourage the other puller into giving up, like a _mind game_."

"That's… actually pretty sly for a bunny."

"I know, right? Well, he did that sure enough, but I went through all the trouble of getting into that harness, and even though I figured I'd already lost I was gonna _at least_ clear the start line. Bo saw me truckin' and got all excited so he kept pulling to jump ahead of me, and then I'd go a little further, and so on until all _I_ had to do was outlast him, but even then it weren't easy, no sir. And then I won."

"Sounds to me that congratulations are in order," yawned Nick, while still expressing as much sincere interest as he could.

"Thanks," chuckled Gideon, "It's my first ever award, too, at least for a competition; gonna put that right up in my bakery. And jus' wait 'til Ma, Pa, and Essy find out. _Especially_ Essy," he grinned from ear-to-ear quite impishly, "I know for certain that none of _her_ awards are for tractor-pullin'," and then glimpsed over his shoulder again to grin, but perhaps less impishly, "Hey Stretch, d'you think I might have a shot at winnin' more strength contests? Never really thought about it before, but I built myself a fair bit of muscle doin' carpentry with Pa, and maybe if I convince Bo to help me work out-" but stopped in both speech and pace at the steady, quiet breath of sleep in his ear, and so snickered, "If I was borin' you _that_ much, you coulda just _told_ me." Gideon took a quick glance about before whispering over his shoulder, "I don't know if you Wildes do this, but it's something us Greys do…" and craned his neck for a light lick on his cousin's cheek. Nick's mouth pinched in a momentary grin before Gideon ducked through the first aid tent flap to the hospital bed within…

* * *

 _It was a cold day, as all days were. Not a day was not cold since the time of the ancestors… if anyone knew of warm days it was not them or any child, grandchild, or great-grandchild of theirs. Warmth only came from home and family… for those that had a home… for those that had a family._

 _Mr. Fox had a home but no family, so the duck he caught could feed him for a month, so long as he got it back to his den, which was a long way off from where he caught it. With the fowl secured in a sack and his crossbow slung over a shoulder, Mr. Fox trudged through the snow, the snowflakes that drifted down settling on the sickly, grayish-red shag of his fur, and the smoky rags he wore. He looked up to the bleak slate of the sky, still clinging to the echoes of a tale he heard as a kit, that the sun would come to walk amongst them again, as it was said to do in time immemorial. But those were tales for kits, cubs, and pups to give them just enough hope to grow up… to pass it onto their own children… to live another cold day…_

 _Along the way, he came upon Mrs. Wolf, who howled and cried in the snow over a stone, which she decorated with flowers made of dyed linen. She begged, "My pup, my pup, have you seen my pup?" to which Mr. Fox answered:_

" _I've been from there to here, and ev'rywhere between,_

 _but there is no pup, ma'am, no pup I have seen…"_

 _Mrs. Wolf cried again and began to dig. So, off went Mr. Fox until he came upon Mr. Tiger, who growled and cried in the snow over a stone, which he decorated with charms he'd counted. He begged, "My cub, my cub, have you seen my cub?" to which Mr. Fox answered:_

" _I've been from there to here, and ev'rywhere between,_

 _but there is no cub, sir, no cub I have seen…"_

 _Mr. Tiger cried again and began to dig. So, off went Mr. Fox until he came upon Ms. Fox, who cried without tears in the snow over a stone, which she did not decorate but held tight. She begged, "My kit, my kit, have you seen my kit?" to which Mr. Fox answered:_

" _I've been from there to here, and ev'rywhere between,_

 _but there is no kit, ma'am, no kit I have seen…"_

 _Ms. Fox cried again and began to dig. So, off went Mr. Fox until he returned to his den in the knotted roots of a tree. There were many who had lost a kit, cub, or pup to either the cold or the dark, but Mr. Fox had no kits to lose, and so kept to himself. He set a coal into his stove for warmth to dress and prepare his catch for the month ahead, and when finished sat himself down for tea but was soon stirred by a knock on his door. His den was well hidden, and the door doubly so, so he practiced caution in answering, peeking out through the barest crack to find Ms. Rabbit, sickly and garbed in smoky rags, as were all who lived in those cold days._

 _She asked, "My fox, my fox; have you seen, my fox?"_

 _He poked his nose through the door to look about, "What should I have seen?"_

 _She asked, "My fox, my fox; have you heard, my fox?"_

 _He poked his head through the door to listen about, "What should I have heard?"_

 _She asked, "My fox, my fox; do you know, my fox?"_

 _He stepped out from the door, "What should I have known?"_

 _She asked, "My fox, my fox…_ _ **Why**_ _, my fox?" with a voice softer than the snowfall and stronger than the tree's roots. So, off she went into the cold, but there awaiting her was Mr. Lion, who with Ms. Rabbit looked at Mr. Fox and did what none other could those days: they smiled. Paw-in-paw, as though she were his cub, they walked towards the east, where it is said that if one looked hard enough they could see the sun heralding its fabled return from behind the mountains…_

* * *

Nick jolted awake but not from a nightmare, his green eyes aglow in the dim light as he breathed steadily, newly energized by a thorough sleep and a fading dream, his brain buzzing in the creative flair of a fresh mind. His attention snapped towards a figure sitting in a chair on the other side of a bedside table, and then spun about in the temporary sleeping arrangements to face the fox wearing a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a low-knotted necktie, who then glanced up from a phone - _Nick's_ phone - with a surly passivity. "Dawson!" Nick exclaimed quietly, and scooted forward until he could sit on the edge of the bed with excited gesticulations, "It's a good thing you're here, because I think I figured out-"

"Stretch, I'm gonna stop you right there before you choke on your own foot," Gideon said curtly.

Nick stared and frowned, fingers out in explanation before they curled in with both indexes pointed, "Appreciated. So… you worked out the necktie, I see."

"Yep."

"And… I've been asleep for a few hours, then?" he assumed, glancing at the shadows creeping up the tent walls.

"Only an hour or two off from sunset."

"Anything… _happen_ while I was out?"

"You got some texts, dunno from _who_ , though, and… Travis called… said a bit more than you did before realizing it was me," he answered soberly, "Was in quite a state, too… he's gotten kinda dramatic over the years, hasn't he?"

"You could say that."

Gideon chuckled, "I kinda like it. We talked for a bit… for a _while_ , actually," and looked significantly at his cousin.

Sighing a heavy sigh, Nick responded, "Probably about what happened when you were kits?" and to a nod, continued, "I'm glad I was asleep for that conversation… He told me about it while you were at the tractor pull… he _did_ have fish to look after, Bangs, but he also needed to work a few things out."

"Yeah… I s'pose it was best you didn't say anything, all things considered… you were barely awake as it was," and scratched his neck, "I really ain't sure what to make of it… I'm as happy as a robin in spring to hear from my best friend again… but findin' out what he _did_ … Which when paired with how he _felt_ about me…" and his ears warmed, "It's jus'… I ain't sure, is all." He extended an arm to return Nick his phone, "I still want to be friends with him, of course, and gave him my number, and he's with someone, so there's no… ya'know… anything lingering there. We're jus' gonna… start from square one, as it were."

Nick lifted a leg to prop his elbow on a knee, smirking, "You were right, though."

"What about?"

"Travis really was, and _is_ , a true friend, which you can lord over Grav until kingdom come."

Gideon gave this some thought, and then snickered, "Yeah… wipe that smug grin right off his face with it, too," and sighed a happy sigh, "Oh! _I_ got a call from Essy, and she's bein' escorted here by Bo, who, by the way, I got to see all geared up in his Burrow Watch duds before he left, and lookin' pretty snappy, too. I mean, it ain't _really_ a uniform, not like a cop," and gestured appropriately, "but it's presentable. So, uhh… you were about to tell 'Dawson' about something you 'figured out'?"

"Oh… _right_ , I was going to do that, wasn't I," admitted Nick.

"D'you… wanna _re-think_ what you were gonna say, now that you know I ain't him?" smirked Gideon.

Nick hummed in thought, and looked at his phone while chewing his lip, "Actually, I think it should wait until Esther and Bo arrive. Think you can handle the anticipation?"

The baker shrugged with a casually disinterested grin, "I wouldn't mind a breather between revelations."

"Such a good sport," said Nick as he smirked, and unlocked his phone to check on the text messages he was said to receive, "Alright, let's see if anyone else wants our heads on a platter…" and hummed in thought, "Mom wonders if I still like curry… of course I do…" and typed out a quick message in reply.

"I can't wait to meet Aunt Jackie and Uncle John," grinned Gideon, "D'you think they'll come out here, or should we go into the city?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Right, right… dastardly plans and all that."

"This one's from T-Mobull," said Nick dismissively as he continued onto the next text message, "And _th_ -" he stopped, and glanced up to Gideon for a moment, "This one's from Captain Kela," but then remembered that his cousin wouldn't know who that is, as evidenced by the confused eyes searching for some answer on the tent walls. "He's the alpha of the ZPD's wolf pack, of which _I_ am the omega of," Nick explained, and at the stouter fox's wide-eyed amazement, continued, "No doubt one of his wolves is a plainclothes cop keeping an eye on the exits of Knotash, and about… fifteen minutes ago spotted a helicopter leave its airspace. Best he can figure, it's headed for Bunnyburrow."

Gideon's jaw about hit the floor, and it was all he could manage to not shriek out in exultation, "Jude swiped a _copter_!" he gleed as quietly as possible, beaming from ear-to-ear with elating paws balled up against the underside of his plush cheeks.

"'Jude _commandeered_ a copter'," Nick calmly corrected, "And let's not get ahead of ourselves, we _cannot_ assume anything when it comes to Magnus; I'm surer of that more now than ever. Come, dear cousin, we'll rendezvous with our fellow conspirators and see what we can uncover about this wayward whirlybird," he instructed. Nick leapt to the tent opening to push and hold up the heavy curtain to allow Gideon through, only to find that he had visitors sitting patiently in a set of chairs on the other side.

Bo sprung up from his seat, no longer in the remnants of his laundry but in a clean collared shirt of the ranger's forest green, ironed and tucked into a pair of similarly colored trousers, neatly pressed and held up by a utility belt, on which a walkie-talkie hung dutifully. He certainly seemed happy for the inclusion of less prickly company.

Someone who did _not_ spring up was Esther, remaining cool (quite _cold_ , actually, though perhaps not because of how she was dressed) in her charcoal, ladies' jeans, legs crossed tightly with hardly a motion in her still colorful toes; her arms were similarly, tightly crossed over a lavender v-neck. Contrasting it all was how her bangs were tidily combed and brushed over to one side that it might partially cover the right half of her face if let to hang, but were instead pinned up by a vibrant, beaded barrette of rose reds and jade greens (no doubt something she picked up from a festival vendor).

"Oh, hey guys, didn't know you were here," greeted Gideon as he stepped out, "How long've you been waiting?"

Bo answered, "Only a few min-"

"All day," Esther succinctly cut in, to which Nick flinched, stuck in place holding the tent flap open. She did not glance up from whatever it was she stared at across the first aid tent, and hardly moved a muscle or flicked an ear at the stony silence that was the wake of her declaration.

The rabbit, along with the taller fox, were both frozen solid with the fur of their napes pointed to the ceiling, but Gideon - as is the case with tods to their close vixen relations - was resistant to her wiles and so able to challenge her assertion, "C'mon, Essy, it can't've been more than-"

"All. Day," she enunciated, and that time glared at Nick with icy blue eyes, head hardly a degree turned more than necessary to catch him cringing in her sights.

With his composure refreshed (if newly, severely tested), Nick whispered to Gideon, "I'll, uh… I'll take care of this. You and Bo find out about that helicopter."

"We'll meet up at the picnic table behind the med tent," he collaborated.

And then Nick said aloud in his most polite manner, "Ms. Grey, the doctor will see you now," while holding the tent flap open a little higher with an ushering sweep of his paw. Esther uncrossed her legs but not her arms as she rose to full height to stride past Bo and her brother, disappearing inside the secluded room; Nick sagged and muted a sigh when her back turned, and then followed in after.

Bo's ears were pinned back as he watched her feet go by, only looking up when it was him and Gideon. "Will Nick be okay by himself?" he quietly asked and nodded at the tent flap, idly cracking one knuckle of his paw and then another, "Esther's _really_ scary, and as soon as I said he was awake, she-" but stopped as the baker promptly ushered him out of the medical tent.

"Her eyes ain't gray, so he's fine," the fox said with his own manner of conversational succinctness as he kept his paws around the rabbit's broad shoulders to continue insisting their combined departure. The instant Bo's ears sprung up and pointed in the direction of Nick and Esther, Gideon quickly clapped his paws over them instead and kept ushering until they were around the back and at the agreed upon meeting spot, "They've got fox stuff to smooth out, so no eavesdroppin'. Besides, _we've_ got more important things to do."

"Like what?" doubted the rabbit, paws on his hips as he arched a brow, standing outside in the waning afternoon to study the more excited fox, who then stooped and pulled Bo into a huddle with a paw blocking his mouth secretively. Hazel eyes darted about before stepping closer, even putting his paw against Gideon's back (and finding that the fox didn't even flinch when he did), "I thought whispering wasn't needed any more."

"Take nothing for granted," whispered Gideon, and after a nod from the bunny, continued, "Nick got a message from his wolf buddies in the city, about how a copter flew outta Knotash and is heading here _right now_. Now, I've seen a copter or two land in Bunnyburrow from time-to-time, but we need to find out _where_ it's goin', and _who's_ on it."

Brown ears pinned back at such news, before swiveling forward and brow knitting in thought, "'Where' should be easy, there are only two helipads I can think of in Bunnyburrow: the main one at the general hospital in the town proper, and another at the hospital in Preds' Corner, in case of emergencies that can only be taken care of in the city. Since it's at least two-hour flight, there's always an itinerary; someone in the Watch should know about that," he said and slipped out of the huddle to unclip his walkie-talkie, "I'll get on the horn and find out; shouldn't be much more than a few minutes."

Gideon took a step back as the Watch member spoke his radio-code, and then crossed his arms and had himself a seat at the picnic table, looking off towards the darkening sky of the east where Zootopia's twilight radiance was already influencing the heavens.

"Well," said Bo, yanking the fox from his reverie as he, too, sat adjacently at the table, "I sent out the call and should hear back ASAP, but the best I'll get is a confirmation of where it's landing and where it came from, not a passenger manifest."

"Tha's okay," grinned Gideon, "We'll give all that info to Nick and he'll figure it out, sly fox like him, probably even _deduce_ what they're wearing," he chuckled, "But I'd bet my tail Judy's on it, prob'ly _flying_ it, too."

The rabbit considered this, "I don't know if she has a license to pilot a helicopter, but she might've gotten someone _else_ to fly it for her. She's always been really likeable, easy to make friends with," he said with a smile, which turned into a smirk, "So I'll bet my _foot_ that she won someone over to _aid_ her."

Gideon smirked back, "You're on, _Chuck_ ," and held out his paw, to which Bo grasped and shook it, "Judy's on that copter, but we'll see if she's flyin' it or not," and then canted his head to the suddenly nervous rabbit ears scanning the area, "'Swrong?"

"I… thought I heard a howl… except distant, or very quiet," and Bo gave his shoulders a shake, "It was probably someone at the festival, or the wind," and allowed a smiling scoff, "Look at me, jumping at noises; guess I'm still spooked by the idea of the Gravedigger, even if it was only a _mimic_ …"

"Hey now, there's no shame in gettin' spooked, all things considered," advised Gideon, "Can't deny that Doug Ramses shoots sharp enough, Gravedigger or not." He then lifted his head with ears flicked, spotting movement from beneath the tent's wall as a pair of foxes in notably good spirits ducked into view, and so Gideon made his observation, "I'd say you two smoothed things out, huh?"

"All is forgiven," Esther in a singsong tone.

"And I'll be sure to be more mindful in the future and avoid the need for so _thorough_ an apology," abided Nick.

"Or _not_ ," she cooed, and he leered.

Bo's ears pivoted before he did and bit back anything he was about to say as the taller fox and the vixen seated themselves at the table. Hazel eyes darted back and forth between them, "You know, you two weren't _really_ out of earshot…"

"Why, whatever are you talking about, Chuck?" Esther innocently asked.

"We made amends in a culturally fox-like manner," explained Nick.

Bo, however, would only narrow his eyes at them and pout, "Mazel tov, but was it _really_ the time or place for that?"

"You're right," Nick immediately responded with a clap to the table, "celebrations are best left until _after_ Judy's return," and the earthen-brown rabbit nodded, paused, and then pinned his warming ears back. "So, Punch, it sounds to me that you've got some concrete answers bout that helicopter."

With an awkward clearing of the throat, the Watch member minutely adjusted his walkie-talkie, "That's… _pending_."

"Good to know we're not idle," commented Esther.

"No point in us sittin' around _pent_ ," said Gideon, "Stretch, what'd you figure out?"

"Ah _yes_ , the big question of the weekend as asked by Judy: 'Why Gideon?'," Nick began with a gesture, and to the bewilderment of the named fox pointing at himself, continued, "To which Grav so graciously jabbed, though I did not know it at the time, the answer: 'Convenience', and perhaps even an apt modifier, 'mostly'."

Esther bristled while muttering under her breath, "And it stirs my pot as much now as it does when I heard about it last night…"

"You mean for the TBR, right?" asked Bo.

"Actually," Nick said with care, "this is about events leading up to the Carrot Days Festival from sixteen years ago."

"I… Yes, I _do_ remember hearing about that," said the rabbit, "Gid scratched Judy, the older bunnies said 'Enough was enough', sent him to therapy, and then expelled him from Woodlands, and that's that, right?"

The table sobered drastically before Gideon spoke up, much to his elders' surprise, "It was a bit more than a slap on the wrists," he explained, claws raking his forearm for an instant.

"We won't go into details," Esther followed, and reached over the table to touch her brother's paw, "but it was more a punishment than any kind of help, one 'disproportionate to his transgression', to turn a phrase… we've only recently discovered how truly brutal it was."

"You know it ain't therapy when you need a therapist for it afterwards," Gideon said with a trying grin.

The rabbit sat in shock, before turning on Nick, "And that happened because it was ' _convenient_ '?"

"If I may?" pressed Nick, and when he once more had the floor, "Thank you. When I say 'convenient', I'm being ironic because Gideon's path to pred-therapy was anything but; quite the opposite, it took a _lot_ of setup to get him there. Now, not to toot my own horn, but I can smell a con a mile off and everything I've heard about what happened back then _stinks_ to high heaven," he snarled, and then continued professionally, "The best hustle is one that goes undetected and unsuspected, and were it not for the truly diabolical ends and means, I - as a former hustler - would admire its masterful execution, but my moral compass is since stronger than that," he grinned. "However, even the _best_ cons leave behind breadcrumbs in the form of coincidences, which only those in the know, like myself, could even recognize as more than mere happenstance:

"When I hear that a kit is sent off to _pred therapy_ for scratching somebunny's face not in a few days' time, but the next _morning_ , I assume there are shenanigans afoot; I don't care _how_ unnervingly efficient rabbits are, those types of decisions and arrangements are not made in an afternoon, _unless_ they were prepared beforehand. Coincidence number one.

"By his own admittance, Grav Hopps purposefully wound Gideon's crank and kept him on edge for the express purpose of 'bringing out his predatory nature', a fox who by all accounts should have been a regular Winston Poohbear-"

"'Cept I didn't care for honey as a kit," Gideon broke in.

"Really?" started Nick, grunted, and then continued, "Anyway, a bully was made out of our plush pushover," to which Gideon snorted at the identifying wave, "by the son of Clea Hopps, or as she was known during her stint as pred therapy's head shrink, Dr. Cleopatra Lapis. Coincidence number two."

Bo scratched behind an ear in thought, but was otherwise quiet.

"I could name a few mammals I've heard of over the years that came out of pred therapy bone-chillingly different to how they went in," Nick said, and then folded his paws on the table to look at, though not address, a nervous Gideon, "But I can only name _two_ who've undergone such a change _prior_ , which makes his circumstances coincidence number three."

"'His'…" repeated Esther, "You're talking about Xander Pounceski, aren't you? That tiger from the Cliffside patient records last night."

"The very same," confirmed Nick, "According to his nephew Tyler, Xander wasn't always a criminal, even though he _did_ have a rough upbringing, made a lot of bad choices, and was known to fly off the handle, especially when cider was involved. After losing his job, his mate, and almost losing his life, he begged for a second chance from his brother, Tyler's father, and boy howdy, Xander crawled the long road to turning his life around; got professional help, became a loving uncle, landed a job in a small accounting firm, even found a prospective new mate. For _years_ he was clean, sober, respectable… until out of the blue he was snapping at the smallest things, keeping untoward company, withholding secrets from his loved ones, all very unusual behavior for him that was explained away as 'falling off the wagon'. A few short weeks later, he was caught embezzling, laundering money, cooking the books, you name it, and wound up in pred-therapy rather than face long overdue prison time for his sordid past."

Gideon ran a paw through his bangs, "But… this 'Xander' fellow already had skeletons in his closet, it sounds like."

"Getting a predator into therapy, unless they volunteer for whatever reason, is a complicated process," Esther explained, and looked pointedly to Nick, "There has to be _proof_ that they are a threat to society due to their _biology_ , not their circumstances."

"I'm glad to hear we're all on the same page," commended Nick, "It wouldn't take much for Xander to lose everything he worked so hard to rebuild, especially if it meant he could 'opt for a lesser punishment'," and quoted the air, "Truth be told, even 'volunteers' have to 'prove'," he continued to air-quote, "that something as extreme as pred therapy will do the trick, whether from something in their _own_ history or… something more _genetic_."

"Blue, I can't help but feel that you're drawing certain parallels that I'm _none_ too comfortable with," remarked Esther, joining her brother in mild, anticipatory glowering.

Nick first glanced away, and then spoke to both Grey foxes as carefully and maturely as he deemed necessary, "There isn't a lot I know about my aunt and uncle, an oversight which I look forward to correcting as soon as they return on Thursday, but there are specifics that garnered my attention. Esther, you've no doubt considered what would motivate a father to run cross-country from his homeland with his newborn kit," he said, and hesitated to continue as if standing on the threshold of permission. Her fingers curled into loose fists, exchanging a pursed-lip glance with Gideon, before she nodded her permission. Nick tread carefully, "What I say next is only speculation, but _something_ happened in Goliath's past, something he escaped from… and by my modest geo-political knowledge, likely _saved_ you from… Maybe it was the trigger of his exodus, I can only surmise on that point, but something was surely used as leverage against him," and then looked to Gideon.

"Was Pa _blackmailed_?" dreaded the stouter fox.

"I do not think directly, no," paused Nick.

"So what _did_ happen?" asked Esther.

"You said that Greys' emotions run right under the fur, correct?" recalled the taller fox, to which the vixen seemed unsure to feign indignation or rationalize an offhanded comment, "If - and I must stress this 'if' - Goliath had any history of violence in his youth, like Xander, but as I also recall was said, a strict ethos of _non_ violence, then I wouldn't doubt that a cunning, resourceful psychiatrist like Clea Hopps had the means to cast a shadow of a doubt as to how his son would develop. Something like a newly marred bunny, for example, wouldn't take a lot to convince a bunch of rabbits of what 'needed to be done', quote/unquote," and then turned to Bo, "No offense."

"But Pa _never_ hit anyone," argued Gideon, "and I was doin' jus' _fine_ until Grav came along!"

"What _exactly_ are you insinuating here?" inquised Esther.

"Only that you can tell a lot about a mammal based on their friends and habits, or in this case, the fact that Clea is mated to Magnus Hopps, a rabbit who has the Gravedigger's ilk on his payroll," Nick answered sternly, "Hiring _that_ type of expertise means you agree with the methods: longterm, meticulous setup to strike at an opportune moment such that no one suspects _your_ involvement. Goliath had a pressure point that could be exploited, perhaps to prevent the asking of too many questions when they came to take his son away for three weeks, and indeed, no questions were asked then or when he _returned_ , either. That's why the Grey family was chosen to swipe a kit from, and not any of the _other_ fox or predator families available at the time."

" _Really_ , Stretch…" doubted Gideon.

" _That's_ an understatement," huffed Bo.

Nick's brow quirked patiently, "Okay, farm boys, time for some critical thinking: before you sow the seeds, you need to plow the dirt, but before you do _that_ the field has to be cleared, correct? It not only has to be _prepared_ , but there are conditions for the land itself before farming happens. So, riddle me this: when did Grav show up on the playground? Anyone?"

The table was either resistant to answer, or opted to answer eventually after a quick count on the fingers, but then Esther spoke up in the silence with an almost dawning lilt in her voice, "It was little more than twenty years ago…?"

Nick clicked his tongue and flicked an approving finger, "What _else_ was happening around that time?"

"Aside from the TBR, it can't have been too long after Simon King went missing," she answered, and grimaced, "Blue, I really hope I'm wrong about this, but judging by the look on your face, I think I just stepped into the same realm of crazy as _you_ did."

"I'm sure you remember how things were _before_ the Kings spearheaded Zootopian's child protection laws."

"Of course I do, it came with my studying law history," she replied and looked to the younger mammals at the table, "I wouldn't say it was anything so dramatic as an 'epidemic', but there

was definitely a persistent 'rash' of missing children in previous generations. Those that were lost were either runaways, orphans, delinquents, or some combination thereof, and came from families without the means to search beyond their neighborhoods, or hit investigative dead ends and cold trails," and then looked at her brother, "Trisha Rose, for example, would have been another statistic some decades ago."

To which Nick picked up, "When Simon and Ryan were cubnapped right off the King's ranch, but only Ryan was recovered _entirely_ by chance, it shook the upper crust of Zootopia when they realized that even Memphis and Sarah, the brown sugar sitting on top, weren't immune to such tragedy; I'm also sure that Tim O'Nare's spirited tirade aided in this revelation. So, you have Zootopian aristocracy scrambling to safeguard their _own_ children and you get trickle-down legislation pushing revamped protection laws through City Hall, the voice of the populace

rises up in the ballot box, and democracy shines through the metropolis once again." He then steepled and drummed his fingers together to glance over them at the fox and rabbit sitting on the other side of the table, "But what about out in the country, like Bunnyburrow, or even further out in Preds' Corner?"

"It's ironic that Bunnyburrow was _scoured_ to find Simon, yet didn't feel the full impact of those new child protection laws," sighed Esther, "but when you don't have as high a population per square-foot (at least outside of the bunny community), not to mention the geographical distance from the city, it's no surprise that _those_ new laws weren't upheld as strictly," and then arched a brow at Nick, "Which, unless I'm mistaken, segways into the point you're meandering to."

Nick dropped his cheeks into his palms to pout, "Everything's set up in their favor, but I've yet figure out _why_ they did it."

"'Why'… what?" questioned Bo, "You already figured out 'why', that's what you've been on about this whole time, isn't it?"

Nick's paws moved to the top of his head as his chin plopped to the table, "I know why it was _Gideon_ , but not why Magnus and Clea needed a kit - or any child, really - in pred-therapy in the _first place_. Having the suspect and the murder weapon is great and all, but without a motive or placing them at the scene of the crime, it all amounts to _another_ heaping pile of circumstantial evidence," he grumbled in newly blossomed apathy, "Maybe I'm just chasing my own tail on this…" As Esther rubbed his back consolingly, he sighed, "If I had some direct connection between them and Gideon or even the Grey family, it'd be _something_ to go on."

"Maybe they're connected to one of those three bunnies that sent me off in the first place?" postulated Gideon, "Except I wouldn't know 'em if I tripped over 'em…"

"And _I_ never got their names," lamented Esther, "There was this… really _fat_ one, looked like a marshmallow that's been held over a campfire too long-"

"But not all the way burnt," finished Gideon, "Yeah, I think he was the one in charge. Gosh, he was stone-cold serious… not like a s'mores at all…"

"And that lady with the glass eye," shivered Esther, "It still gives me the creeps, every time I think about it…"

"Or that _really_ old bunny with the speaker in his throat," said Gideon, and tapped at the bottom of his neck.

Bo scratched behind his other ear, and then spoke up, "Gloves, that thing you said about coincidences…" he began, if doubtfully, and looked between the Grey foxes, "I could be wrong on this, but I think you just described the Tri-Burrow Reunion Board," to which Nick's ears perked.

Gideon flinched and knitted his brow, "My fate was decided by a buncha _party planners_?" he about growled.

"They do more than festivals, Hoss," rebutted Bo, "the 'Board' acts as a sort of… council of elders, I guess. I saw their pictures every now-and-again while setting up in the past week or so, but from what I heard, two of them died some years ago, and the only one remaining is Reggie Hopps. I recognized him when he came by my hospital room last night, the really fat one that looked like a s'mores, but he was warm and soft when _I_ met him. Turns out he's been on sabbatical for a few years, and only came back to town recently for the TBR."

Esther frowned her incredulity, "How have I _never_ known about him until this weekend? He's Judy's _grandfather_ , for crying out loud, and _prolific_."

"Clearly, he doesn't _want_ to be 'known about'," observed Nick under his breath.

"Ya'know… I don't think I've _ever_ seen his picture up in the Hopps house…" Gideon considered, "Come to think of it, Stu was never too talkative about him, either, and if ever there was a 'grandpa', it was always Pop-Pop."

Bo blinked and looked between them, "You didn't know?" and at confused shrugging or shaking of the head, "Stu left the city when he was, like, fourteen or something. Unlike Judy, he _wanted_ to be a carrot farmer, but-" and was harshly interrupted by the electronic cough of his walkie-talkie.

"Boulder come in, over _._ "

"This is Boulder," the rabbit replied hastily, and after a momentary scramble, "What's the word, over."

"Got your ask on whirlygig, over."

"Go ahead, over."

"Set to land in Brambles, over."

"Roger that," smiled Bo, looking up at the rest of the table, and then licked his lips in an eager attempt, "Who's flying, over?"

"Mr. Lucky, over."

Bo's eyes spread wide as he gulped, "Say again, over."

"Mr. Lucky is flying into Brambles, repeat, Mr. Lucky is flying into Brambles, over."

"B-Blest be," he said weakly, "Over and out." Bo hooked the radio back onto his belt before addressing the three foxes staring raptly at him. "I don't think it's Judy flying in from Knotash," he managed to say, his throat audibly dry, "Unless she found a way to get onto the helicopter of Felix Oswald Lapis."

Nick sat upright with a thoughtful hum and sweep of his tail, "Well…" he said, "If ever a fox needs a confidence booster, tell him his crazy plan came to fruition."

"The Lookers!" said the Grey siblings in unison.

" _Looks_ like I got his attention after all," smirked the taller fox, "Judy must be playing the long game, no doubt gathering as much information as she can in her 'gilded cage' before the twenty-four hour time limit at 4AM tomorrow. We, on the other paw, are tasked with receiving the good Felix _properly_."

The earthen-brown bunny groaned at such an assessment.

"What, I thought this Felix was a super swell kinda guy?" Nick questioned.

"He _is_ ," Bo answered, "It's just that… from what I know, Felix Lapis only makes trips out to Bunnyburrow in _extraordinary_ circumstances outside of routine visits, and never once has he ever landed in Preds' Corner, that I can remember, except to talk to the residents about that Caribouan Cruise. The Lookers must be causing something _awful_ for the Knotash bunnies staying there, and when he finds out that _you_ brought them in just to get _him_ out here…?"

" _Relax_ , I'll handle it," grinned Nick, "How long until he lands?"

"Another hour-and-a-half, maybe a little more."

"Then we don't have a lot of time to prepare…" the taller fox stated, and pivoted with a leap to his feet, before holding a formal palm to Esther.

"Prepare for what?" she asked, accepting the gesture to stand beside him, and studied his face an instant before her own tail flicked, "Bless my soul, Mr. Wilde, I daresay you're up to some manner of _mischief_."

"And you don't intend to stop me, I hope?"

"Only if I don't get to play part in it," smirked Esther.

" _Wait_ ," urged Bo, standing up as well, paws on the table.

"Hey, _hey_ ," pouted Gideon as he sauntered about to stand near them, "There'll be _no_ 'manner of mischief' goin' on-"

" _Thank_ you," breathed the rabbit.

"Unless I'm part of it, too," and joined in the smirking.

" _No_ ," groaned Bo, promptly following the trio of foxes walking away from their rendezvous and towards the adjacent parking lot, giving the designated ambulance driveway a wide berth, either Grey listening in and inputting on the quick exposition as detailed by Nick. The rabbit's ears only caught sparse phrases as he bounded forward to catch up, even vaulting in front of them with his shoulders squared as authoritatively as possible, "I _cannot_ allow mischief to just happen, _especially_ when the Felix is involved!"

Green, smiling eyes glimpsed from one set of blues to the other, before alighting on hard hazels, "Punch, you trust me, right?" asked Nick, folding his paws in front of him, and when the stony front wavered a slight degree, "Then you should know… should _feel_ at the very core of your being that I only want Judy's safe return, and justice for what happened to Gideon. Right?"

Bo's face scrunched as he glanced down and to the side, "Yeah…"

"Then whatever I have planned is, ultimately, geared towards those two goals, logically speaking," Nick concluded, "Therefore, the good Felix has nothing to fear from a little… _lighthearted_ 'mischief', a little fox hospitality, nothing more."

Brown fists unclenched to perch firmly on his hips before Bo answered, "This… will be kind of like _bantering_ , then?"

"Only to find out if he's on the up-and-up," assured Nick, "After all, we are dealing with a mated pair of conniving, ruthless manipulators, who've already proven themselves not only willing and capable of committing atrocities without earning so much as a sidelong glance, but having already done so before they _ever_ came to Bunnyburrow. Allow me a conversation with Felix Lapis, and I'll find out if he's in with them or not."

Bo's shoulders squared higher as he inhaled sharply, and released his breath upon realizing he held it, "I can't just look the other way on this, you _know_ that…"

"I never said you should," he shrugged with an easy smile, "Did I, Bangs?"

"We'd best have the Burrow Watch's top fox expert keeping an eye on us, of course, to make sure we stay outta trouble," added Gideon.

"It would be the responsible thing to do," agreed Esther, "and goodness knows, we could use the extra help to make sure it goes as smoothly and legitly as possible."

"How about it, Punch?" grinned Nick, holding out a paw, "You in?"

Bo stared at the palm, and then looked up, "If it'll bring Judy back," he resolved, and grasped the fox's paw, "But… what connection did Magnus and Clea have to Gideon, to do what you said they did?"

Nick grasped the paw a moment before folding both of his behind his back, and strode forward as he spoke, "I figured it was obvious: Grav wanted to meet the 'monster' he heard that foxes were, so Clea used him to turn Gideon into one; years later, Reggie learns that that same fox scratches his granddaughter's face and Clea provides the means to 'cure him of his predatory nature', along with any inherited predisposition towards violence she could exaggerate from four years of bullying and a father with a mysterious past. Magnus no doubt supplied her the resources and bunny-power to find out everything she needed to know to make all that happen, and being Reggie's son, likely had his ear on certain matters and maybe even stressed immediate action. As to 'why', well…" he said darkly, and then addressed no one directly, "Do I want to go through the laundry list of unspeakable crimes children have been known to be kidnapped for?"

" _No_ ," asserted Esther, "I plan to _sleep_ sometime this month, _thank you_."

And so Nick continued, "Magnus can tell us himself when we land him in the slammer for his most recent assortment of villainy, and if he _is_ exploiting Hexward for such, then I don't doubt that the Felix would be more than happy to be rid of him, provided he's not in on it himself."

"Could they really _do_ all that?" dreaded Bo.

"Like he said, they've likely done it before" Esther said forlornly, "at least once we can assume with Xander Pounceski, but who knows how many lives they've ruined. Clea's a _disgrace_ to the mental health profession, and the damage her predator therapy has done to the institution is overshadowed only by the damage _she's_ done to her 'patients' and their families."

"She'll get what's coming to her," declared Gideon, "Her, Magnus, and Grav; the _lot_ of 'em."

"Indeed they will, but first we need our beloved Judy back," Nick reminded his collaborators as they returned to the van, "We've still quite the road ahead of us, and we'll need all the gumption we can get."

* * *

The day's end was nigh. Clouds gathered in the west, but not to hinder the waning rays of golden sunlight, but to catch its oranges, pinks, reds, and purples in a skyward dirge. Off in a field adjacent to Preds' Corner General Hospital, visible from its helipad, sat the yellow-striped tent which was destined to bear witness to a fatal tragedy, but instead hosted merriment, justice, and resolution; at that moment, it was repurposed by a string or two pulled from Bo Briar, its walls rolled up to become a canopy over a temporary linoleum floor and sturdy wood table and chairs.

Nearby and downwind was a grill tended by Gideon Grey, preparing an assortment of shish-kebabs to wet the palate of predator and prey alike. He wore formal black slacks and a white button-up shirt of a sheen-boasting fabric, with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and collar open, front draped in a thick apron. A pair dark sunglasses sat above his eyes as he watched, turned, and seasoned the food.

At one side of the table sat Esther Grey, garbed in a sleek, onyx formal skirt and cream blouse, boasting a frill up its center and shiny buttons on the cuffs. Her bangs remained pinned to one side of her face, held up by the red-and-green barrette, and a pair of petite, round sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose. The laptop which securely held all her work was in the briefcase unclipped and awaiting its utilization near her crossed legs.

On the other side of the table was Bo Briar, done up in black dress slacks and a red, silk shirt, cuffs left open and a pair of reflective sunglasses folded to hang in the 'V' of his garment. It was quick, about as last-minute as he could manage, but he found those that were willing to set up the tent, the grill, the table… as well as the red carpet and the large sign reading "FELIX" on the top of the tent facing the helipad.

And Nick Wilde, who sat at one end of the table facing the oncoming helicopter and whose silver tongue and casual charisma tied everything up in due time, fished out the second suit his father loaned him before he left the city. Unlike the other, more business-casual colors, this one was black and dark-gray pinstriped, the shirt a fine silk with austere, metallic buttons, and the tie a solid stripe of blood-red scarlet, that in the sunset looked ablaze. He was the only one of the four without sunglasses, letting instead his vibrant green eyes watch out over the expanse as the helicopter landed.

It was small, as it was for a rabbit, and when its landing skids settled onto the helipad, its main rotor blades folded back over the tail. The pilot was barely visible through cockpit window, only a vague shape, especially at the distance it was, but a shiny black vehicle drove up on the side facing away from the tent. The distant sound of doors opened and closed, muffled by the sizzle of shish-kebobs, and as the vehicle departed it took a turn not towards the town, but indeed, towards those awaiting the Felix, even coming to a full stop at the end of the red carpet. The chauffeur hopped out, a taller, proper rabbit in a pressed uniform, and approached the door to open it. Out stepped who could only be Felix Oswald Lapis himself, a long-earred rabbit with pitch-black fur and a snow-white face, and though of average height and build he stood in a towering, lordly manner. From the midnight blue of his shawl-lapeled suit to the bright gold of his smooth buttons that glinted in the sunset, he was a rabbit of a commanding presence, and scanned those present without a sound or hardly an expression until he saw Bo… and his face flickered with disappointment. One of his tall ears then pivoted to the _other_ rabbit stepping out from the car behind him and into view, and so did a tremor shake the four of them to their cores when they saw with whom the Felix kept company…

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Snuck in a **Mulan** reference there as part of the head canon that all Disney material is present in the Zootopian world, some way or another; certain stories with humans are simply played by whichever actor fits them best.

Speaking of, Travis makes his debut after a few mentions here and there throughout the story, doesn't he? About his scene, " **Julliaardvark " is a reference to The Julliard School in New York, and "Turkish Delights" is from **The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe** is - for the sake of my story - the "30 pieces of silver" metaphor for payment of betrayal (and why Travis mentions the "irony", since in the movie Edmund's betrayal eventually leads to Mr. Fox's petrification, even though in _this_ world-mythos, Mr. Fox is the betrayer of that story; it's worth noting that Edmund Pevensie was associated with foxes in the story). Fun but: a young ferret is called a "kit", and a family of ferrets is called a "business" or "busyness".**

 **Someone else who also makes his debut after numerous mentions, finally, is Felix Oswald Lapis, based wholly off of **Oswald the Lucky Rabbit** , having recently returned to Disney.**

 **For the sake of clarification, the off-screen time with Nick and Esther is PG-13.**

 **Thanks again for reading!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:**

The climax of Brave is proving to a need a bit _more_ writing than I expected, both in time and word count, and have decided that it shall be split into two halves: chapter 22 and chapter 23, the latter of which is almost finished and will be submitted later this week. Thank you again for your continued patience. That said, enjoy!

* * *

" _Stretching as far back as when history was first recorded, or perhaps a little farther, the lore of small prey species has been almost exclusively cautionary tales, barring few exceptions; as a literary example, the average mouse culture has over a dozen different words for 'the end of the world', in contrast to the singular squirrel legend of 'Wart', a peasant destined to be and ordained as king through the aid of a wizard. During the reign of King Richard Lionheart - the earliest era of recorded, continuous history from modern times - those numerous oral traditions were collected by what would eventually be known as 'The House of Blessings', a unified body of different species that grew in prominence as a representation of all mammals, both big and small, prey and predator alike, as its morals and allegories coalesced into 'The Hexward Tenets'. Over the centuries, mammals continued to evolve and civilize, so their ancestral wisdom formed a foundational tradition for healthy, happy, and fortuitous living…"_

 _And along the way, some superstitions popped up that tend to overshadow the more thought-provoking parables,_ added Judy, and closed the heavy account of The Hexward Tenets: a History to re-occupy its void upon the shelf, leaning over from the ladder to do so. She reached as far as possible with a grunt and a surprised ' _woop'_ , only to have the ladder glide nearer to the book's place, affording her leverage and balance in her task. Exchanging a smile with the young rabbits at the ladder's base, Judy slid far enough that she could hop off without effort and land gracefully behind them.

" _Please_ be careful, Ms. Hopps…" fretted one of those waiting on the ground as they both pivoted about in a panicked turn.

" _Plum_ ," she admonished good-naturedly, straightening the salmon blouse she wore with a quick tug at the hem.

"Sorry," 'Plum' immediately said, shying away with smile, "I mean… _Judy_." Plum was a bright, speckled bunny who wore a yellow ribbon at the base of her ear, its long tail draped over the shoulder of her midnight blue school uniform, "I'm not used to referring to an adult, much less an honored guest, so casually…" With her paws folded at her waist, she shimmied such that her skirt swayed about her knees, and glanced at the female guard in her austere black suit standing well out of arm's reach of Judy, but still ever-present.

Purple eyes joined in the glancing, knowing full well that the guard's ears were perpetually erect and pointed at her, before addressing the pair of speckled bunnies (whose patterns no doubt shared a lineage, though distinctly different). "You're right, though," said Judy, to which Plum looked up, "I need to be more careful on a ladder, and should have taken the time to move it to where I wanted it, instead of leaning off it. Thank you for correcting it, Tucker, I would have had quite the fall if you hadn't," she then said to the young boy rabbit, whose warm cheeks raised in a smile, even though his head bowed as he attempted to avert his eyes away, one of which had a brown wedge in an otherwise blue iris.

"You're welcome, Ms… I mean, _Judy_ ," he said quietly, and fiddled with the tie of his own midnight blue school uniform.

She sighed thoughtfully, and turned her eyes again to the shelf and its broad-spined tome, "When I heard there was an original print of that book, I just _had_ to see it for myself, and I wasn't disappointed," and beamed a warm smile to them both. _This library is truly amazing,_ wondered Judy as she swept the student-filled atrium, the glass dome perhaps the largest source of natural light _inside_ the Hopps Manor; it was itself more than a luxurious home, but for the numerous bunny families that resided in it, a societal microcosm in its own right. _If I hadn't been kidnapped, I would love to live here for a few days, or a week even! I've wanted to visit Knotash for the longest time… it's too bad it was under such… atrocious circumstances,_ and flattened her brow while gazing up at the ceiling. Her smile returned to the patient siblings standing nearby, "Okay, what should we do next?"

"Well…" thought Plum, looking to convene with her brother, "Since you like history, we can always go to the artifact room?"

Judy inwardly squealed, "An _artifact_ room?"

Tucker nodded, and quietly added, "It's where they keep the _first_ printing of that book, Ms. Judy."

" _Tucker_ ," rebuked Plum, "It's only there when it's _not_ in the House of Blessings."

"It is?" he asked, crestfallen, and looked up in remorse, "But there's, umm… there're _other_ artifacts in there, _too_."

With an excited coo, Judy leaned in and held out her paws to each sibling, "I would _love_ to see them," and the speckled pair each cradled one of her gray paws to escort her through the library, as quietly as they may in their jubilation as the stoic guard followed close behind.

* * *

 _It was 4AM, the "witching hours", as Esther was apt to point out. Steam and patience ran low, but she, Nick, and Judy were so close to wrapping up that case against Magnus and topping it with a bow; happy birthday._

 _Nick had information, but he hid it from them, like anything he had could upset Judy or Esther so much that he felt they needed his protection. Even if it was something he got from his connections in the underworld or "Underland", that far-reaching shadow of Zootopia existing right under its surface where the law was more "guidelines", if that; the darknet ran through it and from it, more like a "web" than anywhere else in the city… if the world. He used them before and will use them again, connections like "The Sparrow" and goodness knows who else, wading through the muck and mire and coming out with only the faintest sheen of darkness clinging to his ankles, and only long enough for anyone to notice before he was spotless once more. Such was a fox._

 _They both chased him around the kitchen, the living room, they yelled at him, called him everything under the sun, loud enough to wake the dead… but Gideon slept through it all; Judy would be thankful for that, thinking back on it. They were tired, they were agitated, and they fed off each other against a common irritation that appeared to belittle them… it happened again._

 _What little sense it made when Nick threw his phone into the rain barrel. What more sense it made when he pleaded they stop and listen. That he was trying to protect them both because what he received was of Gideon… and amidst their cloud of indignation was his profound sadness, whether he really knew it. Nick turned to Esther to comfort her, and Judy looked at the rainbarrel in regret… it happened again._

 _What a long day it'd been, a long and arduous day learning so many things that she felt responsible for… Finding out that the pred-scare followed her from the city, but she was so wrapped up in her own self-torment to do anything about it… Finding out about Gideon's scars and where they came from, and the recursion of despair when the truth came to light, how they could only hold each other, weeping… it happened again._

 _It happened again; Judy let her emotions get the better of her more in one day than in the past few years, and as it was when she was very young, affected those around her until she was a maelstrom. When she was very young, things were always_ more _with Judy around. Happy things were happier. Scary things were… scarier. Sad things, sadder. Bad things… seemed worse. No one ever really noticed that it was on her account, certainly not Judy, until Uncle Terry, from her mom's side of the family, explained it to her. He said that she was a "reflector" like him, someone whose empathy was so intense that they bounced emotions back to others like a mirror. Judy asked if she had a "super power" or "magic", to which Uncle Terry laughed his hearty laugh and answered, "Maybe!". He was always an odd one, that Uncle Terry, but he was always kind, and helped her recognize what her empathy - a trait of all mammals that was stronger in prey species, stronger in rabbits, and stronger in Judy - meant to those around her. He helped Judy keep her emotions in check, taught her how to put up "safeguards" not only for her own protection, but for those around her, and most importantly, told her that she, of all bunnies, could probably change the world if she wanted to; that she could encourage others to do good alongside her. Judy took his lessons and guidance to heart, truly feeling she could - and indeed, that it was her_ duty _to - make the world a better place._

 _These were Judy's final thoughts before dropping unconscious from a sniper's tranq…_

* * *

It was some time after dawn, and Judy's head was wedged between two hornet's nests with the volume cranked to eleven. The _instant_ consciousness once more imbued her, however, she sprung upright with ears at full attention, eyes wide as saucers to scan the area. It was, without a doubt, a lovely room, perhaps the most posh sleeping arrangements she'd ever seen, outside of the Palm Hotel. _What is this place?_ she doubted, lightly pawing at the cloud-like cotton sheets and pillow into which she was tucked, kneading the almost surreal softness in her fingers while holding it to an otherwise scantily covered chest. It was then she realized that not only was any exhaustion washed from her system like grime, but indeed, any grime in her fur was, similarly, gone. _I was bathed…_ she suspected, and sniffed at an arm, _With some kind of… ivy-scented soap, I think…_

Electricity shot through her, snapping from idle wonder back to full alert, even scooting in the bed away from where her ears and eyes directed with all due indignation. "Grav!" she nearly shrieked, every ounce of iron will maintaining some moniker of dignity, but of the multitudinous inquiries available, Judy demanded a single one: "What're you doing here?"

The butterscotch rabbit sat quietly in a corner of the room, immediately beyond the substantial range of her peripheral vision and upon a simple settee near the window, if out of its light such that his silhouette was little more than a minor aberration to its projection. Grav's cheek rest upon a fist, leaning on the furniture's arm with a leg crossed over the other in languid patience, eyes cast down to a book held in one paw, which he didn't bother to depart as he answered, "Reading." The word was weighed with such authority and simplicity, it hardly needed to be said, and oddly, it was not with any overt sarcasm or mockery.

What was oddest for Judy to hear was his voice. She'd heard its tenor and pitch before, but couldn't pick it out of a thousand samples like the voices of others, specifically her loved ones, by the emotional significance to which she assigned them. Nick finally figured out her "system" the night before, and certainly seemed proud that he did so; _he_ invigorated, Bo soothed, Esther steeled, and Gideon beseeched… yet in all the years they knew each other she never "heard" anything in Grav's voice, aside from the words he spoke. _Except for that one time he asked me to sing for him back when we were teenagers, and then ridiculed me with an 'A-minus for effort'_ , Judy recalled, and did not scowl at the memory but rather stared harder at the rabbit in repose near the window. She felt a depth in his voice for the second, maybe the third time ever, but now she was certain an association to it was possible, _Maybe…_ pondered Judy, _maybe like scratching at a door…_

 **I'm here.**

…he seemed to "say".

The covers were pulled closer, though not out of fear, as Judy narrowed her eyes, "What happened last night? Where are my friends?"

Morning sun gleamed off his book's weathered cover as it clapped shut, a small, black thing with a strong resemblance to an old-timey journal, complete with a length of twine to tie around a knot on the front. Grav's long-eared shadow invaded the window's light as he approached the bed, and defying expectation, was not only dressed but disheveled such that he might've gotten out of bed only minutes before, if his wrinkled under-tee and shorts were any indication. Laying the book on the adjacent nightstand with a passive solemnity, Grav sat and raised a folded leg to pivot in address, "An _excellent_ question," he informed with all his familiar shallowness, in both cordial voice and bright smile glimmering off the outside light, "The way I hear it, you were spirited out of Bunnyburrow to the Hopps Manor, here in Knotash, and I'm positively _giddy_ to report that your foxes will be _just fine_ …"

Judy didn't waver, " _Provided_?"

"Provided _you_ behave. Should be a cakewalk for 'Saint Judy'," he mentioned offhandedly, and as her eyebrows knitted, _his_ arched in the stretching silence between them, and so he folded his paws in a half-formed lap. "Did I get that right? I'm afraid I'm not _as_ experienced with the mafia as _you_ are, even if you don't _actually_ engage in any of the… shadowy dealings. Which, coincidentally, is what earned you the backhanded title of 'saint', isn't it?" he explained, and at the blinking unresponsiveness, continued, "How _is_ your goddaughter Judy, Judy?"

"You stay away from her and Fru Fru," she warned, "They're not part of this, and I'll have you know that Mr. Big withdrew from a lot of his _former_ crime-"

"I remember a quaint saying," Grav interrupted, "It goes something like, 'All evil needs to succeed is for good mammals to do nothing'," and then touched his mouth as he looked away in dismay, "Oh _no_ , I seem to have sent mixed messages… if you _behave_ , those foxes of yours _should_ be okay, but if you do _nothing_ , 'evil' will not only succeed but _flourish_. What a dilly of pickle this is," and hummed in thought, before smiling at her once more, "Well, you have all morning to ruminate on it. I imagine you'll want to get dressed, though, can't have you _waltzing_ about the manor in your… well, in a bed sheet," and leaning in on an arm, spoke lower, " _I_ wouldn't object, but there are some bunnies here with certain… _sensitivities_ , we'll say."

Judy glowered and balled her paws into fists around the sheets, hot though her ears were, "What is _wrong_ with you? Is this _fun_ , or something?" she scolded.

"Well, it's no game of _croquet_ …"

"Your dad just tried to _kill_ a bunch of bunnies, by using a drug that causes something that also shatters the brain of any predator unlucky enough to be within earshot of them when they die! At least, that's what he's _trying_ to do, and the world should consider itself lucky _indeed_ if it's an absolute _failure_!" continued Judy, "And all so you can adorn your wall with the head of someone who, for _some_ inexplicable reason, only wanted to be your friend! I really don't care _how_ bad a childhood you've had, Grav, but _nothing_ justifies this!"

He shrugged and frowned in an awkward kind of way, "I _did_ say it was 'evil'. Not sure what else you're expecting, _Saint_ Judy."

Gray fur bristled from neck to eartips, "I can't _believe_ you. It's like you have some kind of… ignorance or negligence to common decency. It's _absolutely_ incredible!"

Butterscotch ears swiveled, ever erect and scanning as his face trained on her, "I'm an odd one, I'll give you that, I think it has to with the maddening idea that I'm never _really_ alone, but all the same, I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I let you in on a… a little _secret_ ," he leered, and scooted closer on the bed.

Judy squeezed in against the headboard and its accompanying pillows, jaw setting and lips pursing as she stared at the male rabbit inched nearer and nearer until the shift of his weight on the mattress was tangible. "You, stay back!" she commanded, eyes darting down at her legs folding under the covers and knew she couldn't very well _kick_ him considering her current… state, so instead pointed with conviction, "Not any closer!"

Grav gingerly hushed her with a finger touched against his still grinning lips, and gradually leaned in, "All I ask is four minutes…"

A fierce crack echoed as Judy introduced her fist to his face, nose scrunched up and wiggling as she pulled back her arm for another shot, "Next one goes to the _throat_ , bucko."

He reeled and grunted as his eyes rolled about in his skull, rubbing the cheek and jaw with a laugh, "Wow! You've got a _mean_ jab…" and reached in to feel at a tooth, saying to himself, "No, still in there."

"Get. Out."

"Fair enough," he agreed congenially and shuffled off the bed, standing and stretching with an arm to the ceiling, but did not bother to turn or even look over a shoulder as he spoke, "Concerning your foxes, I don't know what 'happened last night', or rather 'this morning', only that they are being held in the interim. As for _us_ , I sat over there and watched you sleep…" pointing to the settee near the window. His paws went to his hips as his face turned so she could see its profile, though he glanced upward and jut out his jaw, "Watched _over_ you, _while_ you slept, I mean," and peering over his shoulder, so continued, "Anyway, do what you like with your day, but I'd like to invite you to dinner tonight, if you're available. The guard should be in shortly to keep an eye on you, so _do_ try to mind your manners while she's around… she's _much_ stricter than _I_ am. If you need anything, anything at _all_ , let someone know and someone _else_ will provide it for you." With a wiggle of his fingers and a confident stride, Grav exited.

 _The nerve!_ she fumed, _Like he's doing me some kind of favor after kidnapping me, and tormenting my friends…_ Knees pressed close to not only each other but her chest as it heaved with barely contained indignation. Cold washed down her spine as her head rolled back onto the enormous pillow which she nearly buried herself in trying to keep away from Grav, and stared at the gradually brighter ceiling, _I just hope they're okay…_ The empty, quiet room, likewise, illuminated gradually, revealing its cherry-wood wardrobe, vanity, and dresser, along with an ornate dividing wall that was currently folded up. Her eyes fell upon where he sat and frowned in doubt, _Still… what did he mean by 'watched over' me? It certainly looked like he awoke out of a dead sleep, or something,_ and then noticed that small black book sitting on the nightstand.

Judy stared at it, lips puckered in a mixture of confusion and curiosity, _Did he forget that, or leave it on purpose?_ she questioned, eying first the door behind which he disappeared before scooting as quick as she dared to the other side of the bed, and picked up the mysterious book. _No writing on the spine or cover… I'd wager this was professionally made, but not manufactured; probably commissioned from a specialist binder to make it appear turn-of-the-century._ Her body once more reclined, Judy breathed in its scent and listened to its pages flutter (something she always enjoyed whether it was new or old) and spared another glance at the door. _To escape, I must overcome my enemy, but to do that, I need to first_ know _my enemy. So tell me, Grav, what did you grab last minute to keep you company…_

* * *

While it was certainly no match to the splendor of the Natural History Museum at City Central, the Hopps Manor had its own gallery of artifacts to boast of bunny history. There were only seven, arranged in a semicircle, each with a plaque and a light to illuminate; behind was a thick, similarly arched wall, with enough space behind it for at least another room. Judy practically hovered with anticipation as she looked about at the displays, and dashed to the first one she came upon with her young, speckled guides in tow, themselves bouncing along in her wake.

"This must be one of the _first_ mortar-and-pestles used way back when Hexward was little more than an apothecary's workshop!" she explained, "It would have been before the three Burrows were even established, but it began in a forested barn in the Deerbrooke territory. Hares and rabbits worked together to forage herbs and other plants to create poultices, antidotes, and ointments under the protection of the stags, much in the same way farm-rabbits were protected by horses. It's that same partnership that eventually blossomed from the Hexward of yesteryear, built up into the modern pharmaceuticals giant of Oswald Lapis ( _before_ he became Felix) and Buckley Stagmire (before _he_ ran for office)."

"Tucker wants to be an pharma-… phar-ma-ceuti-cal-ist…" Plum attempted to sound out.

" _Pharmacist,_ " Judy kindly corrected.

"A _pharmer_ ," she giggled, "Like Felix Lapis."

"The Felix is versed in _numerous_ sciences, like chemistry and biology, but he specializes in medicines and mammalian anatomy," and then Judy smiled to the boy rabbit standing closeby, "You'll need to study and work _extra_ hard to be as good as Felix Oswald Lapis."

His eyes brightened with inference, "Could I… could I _be_ the Felix?" he asked in wonder.

Her own violet eyes shined, and knelt down to lift his chin, "You can be whatever you put your heart to," and then touched his nose.

Plum hopped around to stand beside her starstruck brother, "Ms. Judy, Ms. Judy, do the _next_ one!" she pleaded, and tugged on the gray paw to lead her over to a display with a single, small bronze sigil sitting inside, a depiction of a four-leaf clover…

"Except one of the leaves is split in half," Judy observed under her breath, hips cocked to one side with a furrowed brow, one paw at her waist with the other cradling her chin. She leaned in to better examine it, and looked around for the plaque upon which an exposition might enlighten her. "'This trinket was found pinned upon the tunic of a slain rabbit nearly 500 years ago, but its origins have since been shrouded in mystery. To date, it's depiction is unique from anything else of that era, and is the earliest known use from which all others of its likeness stemmed.'…" she read aloud.

"What do _you_ think it means, Ms. Judy?" Tucker asked.

She stood erect and crossed her arms to mull it over, "I can't say I'm familiar with this symbol, but I'm _sure_ I'm seen it before. However, I _am_ certain that _this_ clover was cleaved unintentionally, judging by the angle of the cut." Judy spared another minute of quiet contemplation before smiling, "And unless I'm very much mistaken, those markings on the leaves means it was made from a farthing of King Lionheart's reign," postulated the gray rabbit, adopting a scholarly tone, "If I were to make an educated guess, since it was found on a _slain_ rabbit and sigils are often pinned to the chest, it's possible that whatever slew that rabbit split the leaf.

"As for its _meaning_ …" she continued, and let her foot tap lightly on the ground three times, and then pointed a finger high and smiled, "Perhaps the symbol of the split leaf was used by _other_ rabbits as a rallying point."

"A 'rallying point'?" wondered Plum.

"To unite for a common cause," said Judy, and leaned forward once more to brace her knees, her purple-eyed reflection on the glass joined by the speckled bunnies rising up on their toes, "It's a sigil made from a coin, which tells me it was a _gift_ , and a very special gift at that. Whoever wore this was a trusted rabbit, and their death might've been an act of betrayal, or perhaps they gave their lives to save someone else."

A pair of gasps on either side of Judy swiveled her ears, and she stood up to find that both Plum and Tucker had crossed their fingers, closed their eyes, held their breaths, and bowed their heads in reverence. Judy smiled to this and did the same, _I wish, that should I die today, it is in service to others that they may live; blest be,_ she recited to herself, and opened her eyes to the sounds of either sibling releasing their breaths. "Whoever this bunny was was certainly brave," she said, _Come to think of it, Grav had a four-leaf clover on his shirt today, and split one of the leaves with a marker… I should ask him about that, provided there's time,_ decided Judy, but before she sobered up _too_ much, looked about at the other artifacts, _I could spend all day in here, thinking about each of these…_ and stopped upon spotting the furthest of the seven, the one in the middle of the semi-circle they all formed. "Is that… it _couldn't_ be…" she gawked, and strode over to resist the urge to press her nose against the glass, "Oh my gosh, it is!"

Once again, she was flanked by the young bunnies that scampered over when they realized she left, and then Tucker giggled, " _This_ one's my favorite," he said.

"That's because _you_ like _stags_ ," teased Plum.

" _So?_ "

"Incredible, an _intact_ jackalope antler…" Judy marveled, "This must be tens of thousands of years old… maybe older! Just imagine, inside _there_ is the DNA of our progenitors, both hares and bunnies alike, separated by a _single_ degree of evolution, and only because bunnies are speculated to have shed their antlers _first_ to begin burrowing. It's said that the rivalry between rabbits and hares stems from that single point in time as the former evolved _smarter_ , but the latter evolved _stronger_. But remember," Judy was quick to point out, turning to either kit, even taking a step back so that she could speak to the both of them simultaneously, "We are _not_ to judge one another by species, whatever they may be, but by their actions and decisions as individuals."

Such an observation seemed to bewilder the young bunnies, but they both smiled all the same in nodding, rapt agreement. As they each looked about to direct Judy to the _next_ artifact, a stoic, professional voice rose up from the guard. "Ms. Hopps," she said, and pulled a finger down from her ear as Judy turned to face her, "You've been granted permission to view _his_ private collection." An explanation hardly seemed necessary to whom "his" referred, especially when Judy felt both her paws grasped by tinier ones and held close; she, in turn, pulled Plum and Tucker a bit closer.

"Brother Grav's collection is _scary_ ," whispered Tucker.

"I saw inside once… there's something pretty in there, but I didn't go in…" concurred Plum.

Judy looked to them both in turn, and then smiled politely to the guard, "Thank you, Hilde, but I shall like to decline the invitation, with all due respect."

"Hilde" glanced in the direction of her ear-mic, and it seemed to stiffen her a bit more, "He insists, and… 'you won't be disappointed'," she reported.

Judy stood straighter with a single, quiet gulp, " _Won't_ I?" she defied, and then pivoted in kneeling address to the two youngest, smiling once again as she lightly held their shoulders, "I think I should accept this invitation, I am his guest, after all… but if it's _really_ scary, I'll need some brave bunnies to help me. Can I count on the both of you, as my guides?" she asked. Plum and Tucker exchanged worried glances, to which Judy inched herself closer, "We'll only be in there long enough to see something pretty, and then we'll be out in a flash. Okay?"

Tucker's chin trembled, but then nodded assertively, "O-okay, Ms. Judy!" he exclaimed… quietly.

"M-me too!" Plum immediately said, "I'll guide you, too!"

Judy beamed and scooted in to double-hug the kits with a coo, " _Oh_ , thank you. Alright, let's go!" she said, and stood up to turn around, tiny paws clasping hers as she nodded to the guard, "Lead the way."

The black-suited guard nodded simply, and turned on a heel towards the edge of the arched wall behind the displays, ear pointing at Judy and the children clinging to her as she advanced. Behind and around, where the soft white glows of the display cases was replaced with a somber aura as if from a streetlamp, Hilde directed the trio towards the staging area of the artifact room, where it was clear that the semi-circular dividing wall could actually disappear into the floor, if need be. Further back was a set of sturdy double doors, likely enough where artifacts and other such items could be wheeled through to either clean, or put out for viewing. Hilde approached one of those doors and grasped the handle until a soft green light chimed where the keyhole would be, and audibly unlocked; she held it open for the three of them to go through.

"Down the hall on the left," whispered Plum, holding tighter onto Judy as they entered. Inside was well lit… not _as_ well lit as the artifact room or staging area, but well enough. Straight on was a freight elevator, and down the left, a hallway that ended in a single, metal door. They waited for Hilde to close the double-door behind them, heard the latch, and followed her onward until, likewise, they need only stand and await for the vault-like barrier to unlock from an unseen force, and for the black-suited guard to open it.

Plum and Tucker squeezed closer to Judy as she ushered them in. There were only three display cases joined by a carpet, and the first two flanking it so that the furthest could only be approached by passing the others… but _what_ a thing it was to behold. "Shave and smoke me…" Judy whispered before she could catch it, speaking so low that she hardly herself, and so gazed upon the artifact within its stalwart glass case. With either kit in tow - as if they were weightless - Judy strode past the then-irrelevent _other_ displays in a bee-line to what glint off her eyes, and indeed, what caught the breath of both Plum and Tucker when they were near enough to it.

"Oh, my lucky stars!" declared Plum.

"Plum!" hushed Tucker.

"How is this possible?" awed Judy, leaning in to study the artifact, a bejeweled carcanet of gorgeous construction, and began to count, "One, two, three, four… they're all there, the fourteen opals of 'Tears for a Sunset'!" she gleed, violet eyes reflecting the iridescent gems in their gold-filigree embrace, "They were thought lost after she died, maybe five or six recovered at best, but _all fourteen_." She clapped her brow, _And this is in a private collection?_ reeled Judy, and then realized, "Well, of course, I suppose it would _have_ to be."

"Why would _what_ have to be, Ms. Judy?" inquired Tucker.

"Oh!" started the gray rabbit, "Yes, let me explain…" and looked to each speckled rabbit in turn as they flanked the display, gawking between her and the jewelry, and gestured to the polished nameplate, "Laverne Hopps, my great-great-aunt, was a famous opera singer, and every once in awhile she would travel with her father, a merchant, to see the world, drawing inspiration from it and its sunsets to bring songs back to the Kingdom of Forestdwell, where she lived. While in a distant land, a prince heard her singing and he was _so_ captivated by her voice and beauty, that he gifted her these fourteen opals, unique in all the world, and had them made them into a carcanet, which is a sort of very fancy necklace… Now, I'm not an expert, but whoever recreated this _nailed_ its authenticity…"

"That's not the real thing?" doubted Plum.

"The _opals_ are real," Judy kindly informed, "but the gold was surely redone…" she then petered off. Her ears folded back and looked at either speckled bunny, "Do you… do you know the story of Lovey Hopps?"

Each one deflated, and Plum wiped her eyes as Tucker looked up at Judy sadly.

Judy nodded in response, and began, "She was beloved by all who heard her sing, and was herself a wonderful rabbit to know with friends, family, admirers, sponsors, suitors… She could have sang for nobility if she wanted to, but she sang for the lower class, like a diamond in the rough, in a theatre on the edge of the slums… Everyone warned her against singing there, because that was where the predator population _also_ was, but Lovey sang for all mammals, no matter who or _what_ they were.

"One day, a royal herald attended her performance, and he was so awed by it that she was invited to sing up at the palace. Her sponsors went to the best dress-maker in the land, and commissioned the finest gown to be worn before the king… She was to travel from her theatre, dressed in a silver lace gown and 'Tears for a Sunset', but before she got there…" Judy heaved a heavy sigh, "Laverne Hopps was attacked by a savage fox from the slums.

"So… something as delicate as this carcanet would have been destroyed," Judy concluded with a quick clearing of her throat, and welcomed both kits into an embrace, rubbing their backs and looking sadly at the ornate jewelry. "Anyway, let's head out," she at last complied, and was practically pulled by the paws by the speckled siblings before one of the other displays caught her attention, "Wait…"

"Ms. Judy…" pleaded Plum.

"I'm sorry, Plum," said Judy, and knelt to rub her cheek, "but I want to take a _teensy_ look, okay?"

She wrung the tails of her yellow ribbon, and when Tucker grasped her paw, he nodded, "Whatever you wanna see, Ms. Judy. We're b-brave bunnies, you know," came a quiet declaration.

Unlike before, both young rabbits were at one side to Judy, and she held a paw to them as best she could to inspect the double-long display case, so labeled with the nameplate, "Hector Howard", and housing two items: a wax cylinder and a small black book. " _That_ one's definitely from the turn-of-the-century," Judy thought aloud, recalling the one left in her room that morning, _It must've been recreated, and it wasn't black originally, but charred on the outside. Pulled from a fire, perhaps? With the warping of the pages, it looks like there's so much Grav condensed._ Out of the corner of an eye, she saw 'Tears for a Sunset' and considered what she read… _The journal of a rabbit with a profound, poetic soul who sailed the seas and saw atrocities that no mammal should ever witness… In his latter years, he met Lovey on a chance encounter, and vowed to find her again, only to fall into despair at the news of her death,_ she lamented, and icy cold washed over her when she remembered the last entry: " _What a miserable world it is that I am called to shoulder the sword of justice."_

"And that wax cylinder… it must be one of the first ever made, unless I miss my mark," Judy wondered, and saw a bright, plastic button on the display case next to a speaker, "It was digitized…" and looked to the smaller bunnies. They were clearly upset, but when both gazed up at her she knelt between them to once more embrace, "Just a little longer, I promise." Judy waited for their whimpering nods before she reached out and began the playback:

" _Little moth, little moth_

 _Dancing around the flame,_

 _Seeing light b'yond the night_

 _It, through the window, came._

" _Little moth, little moth_

 _Dancing in candleglow,_

 _Glistening off its wing_

 _As it flit, to-and-fro._

" _Little moth, little moth_

 _Dancing amidst the blaze_

 _Turned to ash in a flash,_

 _Ending little moth's days."_

The recording finished, its quality no doubt superb as it enunciated every fault of the dated technology it captured, and the three stared before Plum hushed a whine, "But that's not how 'Little Moth' goes…?"

 _That's how it was in his journal_ , rued Judy, _His voice is as forlorn and haunted as I imagined it would be,_ and kissed Plum's cheek, "I'm sorry, guys, that was really scary…"

"I-I'm not scared…!" asserted Tucker, gripping Judy's side tighter, "A-Are _you_ scared, Plum?"

"N-No, not me!" she denied. When standing straighter, the speckled girl bunny spun around and thrust a finger at the third display, "Wh-What's _that_ one, Ms. Judy?" Even in her burst of courage, it was clearly a challenge for her to ask.

Craning her neck first to glimpse what newly stayed her juvenile guides, Judy rose to read, re-read, and re-read again the nameplate to whom the artifact belonged, an artifact that by its size alone could not possibly belong in any history of Knotash, much less bunnies. "'Piberius Savage'," Judy finally admitted in choked awe, "The 'Scarlet Hook' itself; 'The Executioner'; 'The Reaper's Crook'. It's said to have punctured over a _hundred_ skulls before Captain Savage disappeared into the ocean mists…" She gawked and stared at the wickedly curved iron mounted upon a wooden cuff, its straps long enough to, roughly, reach from a fox's wrist to his elbow, and then up to another buckled cuff around the bicep. _This belonged to Nick's grandfather… and he was Gideon's grandfather, too, wasn't he…_ Judy remembered, and read once more the "Piberius" which both foxes shared as a middle name, and the "Savage" which their mothers shared as a maiden name, _No meager coincidence, but there's something else here, isn't there Grav…_

"Ms. Judy…!" pleaded Tucker and Plum in turn.

Judy caressed their ears, and then turned to the guard, "Hilde," she instructed, earning a stiff attention, "Please escort them outside and wait for me," and ushered the children accordingly.

"Ms. Hopps-" denied Hilde.

"And give me your earpiece. I need to speak with Grav."

"I _cannot_ -" began the guard, stopped immediately, and put a finger to her ear with visible disapproval, "But-" she continued, listened, and then hardened, "Yes, sir." Removing the Bluefang device, Hilde whipped out a handkerchief from her coat pocket and thoroughly cleaned it during her approach of Judy, and held it out, "Don't put it in until _after_ we leave," she instructed, and took both speckled bunnies gently by the paw to turn in all due professionalism, soon disappearing behind a closed, locked, metal door.

 _That sounded like she was asking me herself,_ observed Judy, and carefully fitted the ear-piece in, flinching at the quiet static before she spoke, "Grav?"

"You're not disappointed, I think," came the voice in her head.

Judy steeled herself, which was easier due to only suffering his voice rather than his presence, "Well, not at first."

"Oh? _Do_ tell."

"I'm impressed by the devotion to detail of Lovey's carcanet, something like that can't have been easy to restore considering how _little_ imagery there is of her wearing it, so, credit where credit is due," began Judy, pivoting towards the jewelry in a scholarly manner, "By the way, can you see me?"

"Not as such, no, but I can hear everything and am sure the way you handle children is a treat to watch."

"Are there no cameras in here?" she doubted, and swiveled an ear to the soft buzzing of a lens off in a corner of the ceiling.

"There _are_ , but I'm not in the control room," he explained, "Guess where I _am_ , and win a prize."

 _Judging by the sound of a socket wrench and the drip of some viscous fluid, along with the tiny smear of motor oil staining the base of your ear that I saw this morning, you're probably under a car somewhere; better hope that jack is sturdy,_ "I haven't the foggiest, but let's stick to one game at a time, shall we?"

"Oh… very well," he sighed, "And yes, the fabled 'Tears for a Sunset' returned to its full glory. You're right, it _wasn't_ easy, but thank you for the compliment, I take pride in my work."

"Wait… _you_ restored it?"

"Found and purchased, too; the pawn shop didn't even _know_ what they had, and thought _they_ swindled _me_. Oh, to see their face now…"

 _Mechanic and crafter… good with your fingers with an eye for minutiae, I imagine_ , _and no small amount of patience_ , pondered Judy, _And considering how clean you paws were just yesterday, you much bleach them, or something._ She turned towards the double-case display with the book and wax cylinder, "Now, this 'Hector Howard' rabbit, whose journal you so conveniently left on my nightstand, is someone you obviously take after."

"Good going, detective, but what of it?"

Judy crossed her arms comfortably and shifted weight to one leg, "A prominent rabbit _also_ named 'Howard' that springs to mind is the founding architect of 'Dr. Henry Howard's Homes', but aside from that, the best I can figure is you're _obsessed_ with dark poetry and this period of history. There are more exciting times to be a sailor, or a _pirate_ , for that matter," and glanced at the display case behind her, "Back when the map still had edges to explore. So, why focus on some… _turn-of-the-century_ folktale?"

He paused a full beat, the ratchet of his wrench even staying, "A _folktale_ , say you?"

"Oh, yes, I quite imagine it's what you wanted to draw my attention to, _Grav_ ," and turned full upon the "Scarlet Hook", even doing what she not dared before and approached it for a closer inspection, "Now, I'm not an expert historian, but I _am_ a thinker, and not to toot my own horn, am _quite_ the forensic investigator. By my reckoning, this… 'hook', for lack of a better word, did _not_ belong to Captain Piberius Savage."

The gentle sound of tiny wheels across concrete sounded from the earpiece, "Didn't it?"

"Well," scoffed Judy in no small degree of smugness, "for starters, its tip doesn't seem strong enough to puncture a skull, and it's a bit _rounded_ , now that I'm looking at it. Also, I can't help but notice that it's more of a _blade_ than a hook, except the edge is on the _inside_ of the curve. And, perhaps this is only a trifle, but unless someone repositioned it, Captain Savage could _not_ have gotten enough swinging power with it pointed _up_ as it is," and held out her arm with the thumb extended, eyeballing where the "hook" would point were she wearing it, and thusly scoffed, _What was this for, grooming? Was this even worn by a fox, much less the most feared pirate of all time? The blade was definitely kept sharp, though, I'll give him that._

"From here," continued Judy, "I might chortle and ridicule you for mistaking a… _pruning knife_ for something as dread as the 'Scarlet Hook', but I'll do right by my partner Nick and _not_ assume that you're an _idiot_."

"How courteous, but your assumptions are well-founded, and I'm sure you'll be interested in my findings, what with your _fox-craze_ ," he scathed, but abided, "Captain Savage is such an _interesting_ historical figure, and much like a fox, surrounded in mystery and contradictions. Did you know that his legend _spans_ a half-century? His most infamous act includes disappearing off the face of the planet one hundred years ago, and _yet_ there are eyewitness accounts of his continued swashbuckling into the modern era. Easily explained with _charlatans_ and _falsehoods_ and other such _fox_ things," he chortled, "Still, it does make one wonder, doesn't it?"

 _Just what are you trying to goad me into, exactly?_ "The only thing _I_ wonder about is _why_ you have a-"

"A 'pruning knife', you said," Grav intercepted, "Rest assured, Judy, that small blade _did_ belong to a fox. There was some blood and tissue just inside the wooden cup and, I can say with certainty, that the DNA is definitively ' _vulpine'_. Now-"

"But was he Captain _Piberius Savage_?" she pressed.

Grav paused, "There is… _testimony_ , that it belonged to _a_ 'Piberius Savage'…" to which a wry, unimpressed grunt was paid before he continued in defense, "It cannot be simple coincidence, such a name as _that_."

"Well, since you had it _tested_ , I'm sure you found quite a _bit_ of decayed blood in its resilient rust, no doubt? The 'Reaper's Crook' laid claim to _hundreds_ of lives, and not only by means of puncturing the skull, you know," and Judy crossed her arms, "A thorough, meticulous rabbit like _yourself_ would leave no stone unturned, yes?"

Meticulous he certainly was, and the frustration in his voice might as well have been telegraphed, "After rigorous testing, there were mainly signs of _chlorophyll_ …"

 _That sounds about right_ , pondered Judy, "So… perhaps there was a fox, back in those days, a florist or groundskeeper, perhaps, that took the name of 'Piberius Savage' for some personal reason? It was a rough time for most predators back then, especially the smaller ones that relied so heavily on their wits to survive, one can imagine that laying claim to an infamous name might afford him some measure of… security, if used correctly?"

"It is… feasible," Grav nearly growled.

"Well, an interesting artifact all the same."

The silence on the other side was palpable, "Did you know that literacy was illegal for _shifties_ back then?" asked Grav, and could probably hear her flinch, "Foxes especially. It was believed that their words were curses, and their script could be spread far faster and wider than their voice. It was a harsh, unfair law but a law all the same, and with it an equally harsh, unfair punishment."

"'An eye for reading; a paw for writing', yes, I know," Judy rebuked, "but harsher still was the punishment for _teaching_ any predator to read and write: death by hanging."

"You are already deep in a dark history, Saint Judy," crooned Grav.

"I do _not_ shy away from facts, Grav," she asserted, "I take in the good _and_ the bad, otherwise the latter will only repeat itself."

"How _sagacious_."

 _Great, I've earned his admiration,_ she huffed, but then smirked in her adoption of a slightly more mocking tone, "All-in-all, not a _bad_ collection, definitely has its highlights," and once more admired Lovey's carcanet and Hector's journal, if at opposite ends of the positivity spectrum, but then relaxed in her returned attention of the false-paw before her. "If you found something interesting, like, the boogierabbit's meat hook, I'd be a _bit_ less disappointed, but that's another folktale predating this one _by far_. He had the same nasty habit, you know, so they say."

Ratcheting of a socket wrench started up anew, but by the continuous clicking, sounded as though Grav spun it around like a noisemaker, "I'm not sure I'm comfortable having a conversation about the _boogierabbit_ over the phone… let's pick it up at dinner, instead."

Purple eyes rolled, "Nothing quite like talking about grisly mutilation over _food_."

"Be sure to wipe off the ear-piece before giving it back, _Little Moth_ ," he jabbed.

Grumping, Judy pulled it out and used her shirt, "I'll give the _floor_ a good wiping with your _face_ ," she muttered, blew on it, inspected it, and then wiped it again on her way back to the door. After a firm knocking, it beeped and unlocked, otherwise silent in its opening with the aid of Hilde. Judy's sternness fell away at the realization that _only_ Hilde greeted her, "Where are Plum and Tucker?" she asked,  Bluefang device still held out.

"Their mother came by to pick them up," reported the black-suited guard, but before positioning her retrieved communicator anew, Hilde consoled the remorse in the sigh and gait of the gray rabbit exiting the private collection. "If I may speak freely, Ms. Hopps," she began, closing the door behind and even curling her fingers around the earpiece, "They both loved spending time with you today… even when it was in _there_. They're only regret was that they didn't get to say 'goodbye'."

The news helped Judy's sagging shoulders and drooping ears a bit, _It seems everyone is so sad to see me go, today,_ she ruminated. There was a quick game of doubles' tennis in the garden with Jacy, Pewter, and Matt; sneaking a snack from the kitchen with the help of old, kindly Nana Caroline; the class of uniformed students she met in the art gallery that she got to play teacher's assistant for, and afterwards joining Plum and Tucker in the library, where their mother worked. _Scouting escape routes in this place was easier than I thought it'd be, there must be a half-dozen different ways I can sneak out. And everyone here is so nice, but no matter where I go, it's never a 'See you later' or 'Until we meet again'… It must be a Knotash thing, to part company with such… finality._

"Ms. Hopps," said Hilde, finger once more lowering from an ear, and gestured down the hallway towards the double doors, "It's time to get ready for dinner."

"Oh, is it that late already?" wondered Judy, but smiled and shrugged her best, "Time sure flies, doesn't it…"

* * *

Grav's workshop was empty, as usual, since no one came to visit unless called. It kept things quiet, allowing him to focus on his projects and hear each rev of his pride-and-joy. She growled and roared and purred in all the ways he liked, told him whenever something was wrong and he was all too happy to dote on her whims. He scratched behind a butterscotch ear, right in the coffee-spots at its base before wiping the motor oil from his paws, and then tucked the rag into the back of his oil-stained jeans to lean over the driverside door. After reaching in around the steering wheel to ignite the hybrid electric motor, he heard the well-tuned symphony of an internal combustion engine and cooed, "Atta girl." She calmed until she slept and so allowed the patient presence be heard of the single, solitary exception to an unspoken rule of Grav's lack of visitors.

"Old Bun," announced Grav, but did not bother to look over his shoulder, "Whatever could bring you down from your ivory tower to _mingle_ …"

Magnus did not respond immediately, but simply let himself into the workshop. "I was in the area and thought I'd stop by, maybe have a little _chat_ ," he conversed, and since he wore a rather nice, around-the-house ensemble that could still entertain guests, he was careful not to step on anything in approach to the workbench where the Bluefang earpiece sat ignored, and then fiddled with a flat-head screwdriver. "Did you enjoy your gift?" he asked, turning to lean while balancing the tool upon its tip, a single finger bracing the butt of the handle.

"You can't claim it as a ' _gift'_ when I get it for myself," mused Grav, watching from the corner of his eye as his stuff was, once again, touched, "I didn't mind picking it up personally, though, and she's handling it all rather well, considering. I daresay she's _much_ happier with her new starter- Oh, you mean _Judy_ ," and closed the car's hood with a soft ' _click'_ , "Or maybe the blood-and-vomit stained muzzle of a tortured fox kit? Which, by the way, is rather tacky without the head you promised, so I hope you kept the receipt," he mocked without hiding his contempt, "You give me _so many_ things I don't ask for, I find it hard to keep track of them all."

"Don't ask for, but _want_ all the same," rebuked the older rabbit, "Your bail from a backwater jail cell, for example."

"If I knew how _much_ I'd be pestered for it, I'd have never run over that half-hare…" groaned the younger rabbit, and leaned in to caress the blood-orange chassis and once more cooed, "I know, I know, I was in another car, but I couldn't bring _you_ out to the country, with all it's _dirt_ and _rocks_ and other terrible things…" and then spoke a little louder, "You'd think a lifetime of angelic behavior, perceived or otherwise, would allow _one_ discrepancy. Besides, I heard he was in a _tractor-pull_ today, so I can't have hit him _too_ hard."

Magnus uncurled his fist from the screwdriver after forcibly burying its tip into the finished wood of the workbench, "'One discrepancy'," he repeated coldly, dark eyes watching as the younger rabbit, visibly simmering, sauntered over to dislodge his flat-tipped tool, "A _double_ falsehood, because it was your _second_ after that stunt you pulled in a _hayseed bar_ ," so rose his voice only to return to an unnerving calm, "and I needn't explain to you that instigating a hostage situation with _vehicular assault_ is _not_ a 'discrepancy'."

"Fret not, daddy dearest, my good standing is easily earned: a profuse apology, blame forces 'out of my control', a _generous_ donation with the promise of 'a new leaf'… yes, that should do the trick," and paid a venomous smirk to the tightening grimace, "I've learned from the best, you know."

"Mind your tongue, young buck, the only 'standing' you should be concerned of is with _me_ , which is _far_ from 'good'."

"And _yet_ , I still received a 'gift'." Grav doubled over when the fist entered his diaphragm, screwdriver clattering to the floor and he not far behind it, starting with his toes returned to concrete and immediately followed by his knees. One paw clutched solid ground and the other his gut, finishing it all off with a clear regurgitate from the immediately adjacent, gasping mouth.

Magnus crouched, but only so far that he still loomed over his son, "Another gift, one that you did not ask for but received all the same, is an unbroken face for your dinner tonight. Cherish it, Grav," and stood to exit. He paused at the doorway, though, and full pivoted, "Which reminds me, I came down here to let you know that Judy's already begun cleaning up to attend, and that you should do the same," he instructed, grinning a wide, malicious grin, "It'd be uncouth to host _anything_ in such a state."

Grav shook as he stood, glaring his own dark eyes and holding the screwdriver's handle until his pelt stretched tight over his knuckles, "Perish the thought, Old Bun," he coughed, voice straining to maintain a steady tone, standing upright once more to calmly, if trembling, put the tool back in place, "Any more 'fatherly advice', or will that be all?"

"Be sure Judy gets back to me intact after your four minutes, but other than that, _have fun_."

* * *

" _Detective Lovey sat at her desk in a fitful concentration"… No, no…_ thought Judy, " _Detective Lovey paced the length of her desk in stony agitation", yes, that's the ticket,_ she determined, and pictured the hardwood, rug-covered floors of a turn-of-the-century office (with some modern conveniences that were till some decades yet to be invented, much less widely used), a bookshelf jam-packed with an encyclopedic treasure trove of reference material from anatomy to zoology and everywhere between, and a glass-paned door that read "Detective L. Hopps and Detective P. Wilde". " _Her piercing, purple"… "piercing, violet eyes scanned the empty desk of her partner, Pib, for the umpteenth time that minute. The precinct was in a scramble after last night, when it was discovered that not only was a private citizen missing, world-renowned pastry chef Master Piberius Grey, but more suspicious still, his sister, the Honorable Judge Lee Grey, as well as her own trusted partner and friend were all gone without a trace… their one connection? Each one was a fox."_

 _Hey, Dawson,_ asked Judy, blinking back to the Hopps Manor. She tugged the silk, salmon blouse from her waist and over her head to hang it on the dividing wall behind which she was changing, and no sooner had she done so than it was whisked away by one of the attendees on the otherside, assigned to assist in her bathing. _Would it be too much of a coincidence that two characters have the same, unique name like that?_

"With all due respect," said Dawson in staunch professionalism, "There are bigger things to worry about than your future detective novel." As of yet, Dawson was only a voice in her ear, even if it sounded as though he stood not a few feet from her, but when she closed her eyes and concentrated could envision him red-furred, green-eyed, and in a sharp butler's outfit with a tablet.

 _I know, I know, but I need my brain to rest after today, and creative frivolity is one of the best ways to process information while awake. Now: identical names, good or bad?_

The imaginary rabbit sighed through his nose, "If you have _sound_ reasoning for why they would have the same first name - something important to the plot or their backstories - it won't feel contrived, or in your case, _obvious_ that they're based off real-like individuals that you personally know."

Really, Judy just wanted to hear Nick's voice because she always felt cleverer with him around, ironically enough, and Dawson sounded identical to him; she had an overheard conversation between Nick and Gideon to thank for that, when the former confessed to the latter that the Night Howler drug gave him an independently thinking hallucination, if only for a day or two. Her _own_ exposure to the drug mixed with the foundation of strenuous mental exercises that got her through college and the academy at the forefront of her class (no small feat for a bunny, in either case), and created a mindscape where she had to confront her personal demons to wake up again, or else be lost to a drug-induced pit of despair. Judy shivered.

"Thinking about 'The Burrow' again?" asked the disembodied voice, a bit more sympathetic than she was readily used to hearing from "Nick".

 _It comes and goes…_ _Usually when I let my mind wander too much,_ she admitted, and stepped out of the sapphire capris to take her time folding them with slouched shoulders. _The Burrow, my own oubliette…_ _It even looked like it was built on top of Rutabega Rock…_ and so her mind ruminated to further slouch her shoulders.

"He'll forgive you, you know."

Judy wrung the borrowed trousers and gnawed her lip, _I know he will…_

"You're very forgivable like that."

 _And Bo's always been the forgiving sort,_ she couldn't help but rub the toe of one foot over a toe of the other, if only momentarily, _despite what he's been through, I mean; I can't imagine what it's like being alone in a room full of rabbits…_

"Can't you?" asked Dawson, a Damocelotes Sword of a question is ever there was one.

Her fur bristled, though not in any show of anger or offense, but at the memory of when she truly believed that she could "Make the world a better place", only if she were not in it, and the internal crusade she waged sent her into deep depression, weeks on end when it felt like every brother and sister, aunt and uncle, even her own parents were miles away. _I don't think I can ever thank Bo enough for pulling me away from that edge_ , she lamented, but felt lighter and warmer with his memory as she flicked her wrist to sling the pants onto the dividing wall, which like the blouse before them were whisked away. _I've still got a long way before I can face Big Gid and Sissy again, though… and Nic… I promised to save them, but then I… you know, turned the whole place to ash so it can drain into a yawning abyss._

"Not too unlike the _real_ Forestdwell kingdom."

 _Thanks, Dawson, that helps,_ she flatly frowned, but in truth, was glad for the banter.

"Also, if you're going to stay true to your stint in The Burrow, wouldn't your story be about 'Detectives _Jude_ & Pib'? We can't forget about a certain purple-eyed gray vixen, after all."

 _We're adhering to a strict naming convention, Dawson, and we mustn't deviate from the truth and prudence of the story,_ she promptly corrected, but before completing the preliminary steps to put on a bathrobe, clapped a fist into her palm in resolution, _The library! There was an alleyway between it and the gallery covered by a lattice of morning glories,_ she recalled. Eyes closed, she took a seat in the chair provided her to fold both paws beneath a steady nose, _Let's take another look at the map._

Up popped Dawson behind Judy's eyelids in his snappy ensemble as she envisioned the route of her escape, starting from the dining area overlooking the garden where she knew for a concrete fact - thanks to some insight from the kitchen staff - that Grav had set aside for their private meal. "I am obliged to repeat your own warnings on the _continued_ use of a certain hallucinogenic drug still in your system," he said, sounding more like a flight attendant than an assistant, "As of yet, it is unclear whether _you_ are burning through _it_ , or _it_ is burning through _you_."

 _Desperate times, et cetera,_ she dismissed, watching a rough layout of the estate with approximations of distance and time needed to travel, along with points of known surveillance, _This should be the last piece of the puzzle. With that alleyway, I can slip down a hedged path, run along the tennis court fence, and squeeze in behind the aviary, and then I'm practically home free. Now, if I know Nick like I know Nick - and I know Nick - he'll have gotten my message and told Bogo to post a plainclothes cop outside of Knotash, and if I'm especially lucky, it's one of Captain Kela's wolves, who know my scent._ She grinned triumphantly, _Can I get a 'boom'?_

The red-furred rabbit furrowed his brow and sighed through his nose again.

 _I don't hear a 'boom'._

"'Boom'," he complied, the corners of his lips curling despite his best efforts.

… _And don't worry, I've already got a place for you in my story: Chief Inspector Dawson. How's that sound?_ beamed Judy, hopping in her seat momentarily to divest herself of "the last piece of the puzzle", and so stand to retrieve the plush white robe hanging nearby.

"That has a nice ring to it," mused Dawson, "but it sounds like you think I'm going somewhere."

 _Well, the_ midnicampum holicithias _will leave my system eventually, I can't have had so much that it permanently damaged anything or caused an addiction_ , reasoned the gray rabbit, _So… the hallucinations will end at some point…_

"Oh, Judy… I'll always be right here if ever you need me. For… _any_ reason."

She moaned her appreciation inwardly, folding both paws over her chest after tying the robe closed, _Dawson, that's so sweet of you to say… you mean for emotional support, right?_

But no response came.

 _You'll be professional about it, right, Dawson?_

"Ms. Hopps?" came a polite, petite voice from around the dividing wall, "The bath is ready."

"Oh, thank you!" started Judy, nearly jumping her height but keeping as reserved as possible as she stepped out to the awaiting attendants, each garbed in a simple, yet shimmering beige dress that only reached their knees, but modestly hugged their frame with a floral pattern. "This seems like an awful lot of fuss for a bath," teased Judy, "Not that I'm ungrateful, of course, I would love a good soak after today."

"Ah," said the attendant that looked most in charge, judging by the authority etched into her eyes and smile, and the marginally fancier outfit she wore, "We here in Knotash handle cleanliness with the utmost respect and attention, especially for so honored a guest of Young Master Grav."

 _There's that title again,_ pondered Judy, and awed, "Ooh, this will be something like a day-spa?" she asked, following her own personal team of pamperers.

"Well, it will not take _all_ day, as you still have your dress to be fitted for, Ms. Hopps."

Judy fretted, "Oh, right, I still need to pick one out, don't I… I probably should have done that instead of running around the manor, huh…" _Guess it can't be avoided after all. Maybe I can find something not as… fancy._

The veritable mistress of the group tittered congenially, "One was already picked out for you by the Young Master himself," she explained.

 _Goody goody gumdrops,_ but stayed her sarcasm to say, "I'm sure it will be absolutely _lovely._ "

"It most certainly is," said another, younger attendant with a dreamy sigh, and pulled the curtain around the lot of them to make the bath a private affair, in an otherwise open, and busied, washing area, "Brother Grav chose the prettiest dress in the whole manor."

"He actually had it commissioned _months_ ago based on a historical design to put in his private collection," said a third, more bubbly attendant as she stood behind Judy and helped remove the sandy-white robe, "You are so _lucky_ , that dress has been the envy of every girl here," and she herself seemed to sigh wistfully, "Oh, but to see _you_ in it…"

 _Sometimes I wonder if I'm hearing about the same "Grav"_ , she doubted, and paid a bashful smile while sitting upon an indented plastic stool in a small, tiled area, and closed her eyes as the attendants unhooked the showerhead to rinse the sweat and such off her body with a gentle stream of warm water. _Ooh… that's rather nice, isn't it…_ sighed Judy, and lay her head back so that they could get her ears, and then her chest and stomach, momentarily forgetting that she was held captive by a family of sadistic megalomaniacs. It didn't take long to remember, however, as she thought back on her reconnaissance of the Hopps Manor…

If a poll were taken of Magnus, Clea, and Grav amongst the late adolescent to the early middle-aged, of which comprised a vast majority of the household, Judy could say with certainty that they would be ranked with solid approval; she figured this before _ever_ waking up inside Knotash. It was the oldest and the youngest, the outliers in their unmitigated honesty - who were either too innocent to yet understand how things "worked" or aged enough to predate everyone else - that Judy was interested in, and is why she sought out such a venerable individual as "Nana Caroline".

Nana Caroline was there when Grav had yet learned to walk or talk, back when (as Judy confirmed) he was still known as "Graham". It was over a tray of ginger snaps and ice cold cucumber juice which Nana was taken by Judy's cordiality and charm, and told all there was to tell about how _Graham_ (which she did not say _too_ loud) was the first child of Magnus and Clea and given proper honorifics to reflect this - as well as the responsibility of following in Magnus's footsteps - even though later on they would adopt or simply take in older youth from outside families to join the Hopps household (a common practice in any rabbit society). Clea's pregnancy was a happy surprise, so devoted to her work as she was, but as she grew she seemed troubled, and at times caressed her stomach sadly…

 _He_ was born with, as Nana could not fully detail, "complications", which he clearly lived through even though, at times, his infancy balanced on a razor's edge. All was well for some years until one day in the garden, when Graham was playing amongst other toddlers, that he… (and at this point in the narrative, Judy had to lean in just to hear the barest whisper from Nana Caroline) he had "pounced a bird and tore it to ribbons, only to let out an unholy wail". Judy consoled the old rabbit and apologized for asking her to relive such a thing, but as was Nana Caroline's manner, dismissed such "worrying over an old biddy". Suffice to say, Graham, or who would be known afterwards as "Grav", was not allowed near other baby bunnies, much less his own brothers and sisters.

It seemed to Judy that even beyond his toddling years, through adolescence and well into adulthood, he remained what could be described as… "prickly", as if anyone except Magnus and Clea themselves dared ever get close to him (even though they always deferred to him with the utmost respect). It was subtle, but as Judy recalled what she could concerning Grav (indeed, all memories she managed to dredge up, such as the group of bunnies with which he accosted them at Gideon's bakery the day before), along with family photos or other depictions, no or few sibling could be seen _touching_ him; at least by any choice of their own. He could be seen with awards, ornate projects and artwork that he seemed to make himself, and like a buzzer that sounded each time she saw it, Judy recognized a common insignia with varying degrees of detail, depending on whether used in a signature or stylized nameplate: two falling stars with crossed tails. It marked the identical times of their births, and followed Judy's childhood over birthday cakes and whatnot, _But I make my own significance, however beautiful a coinciding natural phenomenon might be,_ she had long since decided.

What was most disturbing about the scattered photos or rare depictions of Grav Hopps was his smile. He had a very nice smile, quite handsome, but Judy was struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu that only progressed - perhaps worsened - each time she saw it. It was likened perhaps not to a smile "painted", or even a porcelain doll, and not until leaving the artifact room and saw his portrait did it finally come upon her as a wave: his was a smile that reminded her of an old horror movie called "The Taxidermist", about a serial killer who transgressed from stuffing birds and reptiles to _mammals_ , wherein each victim was stitched with a perfect smile.

Judy stood from her showering stool with the faintest chill, finished as her attendants were with a thorough lathering and scrub, followed by another meticulous rinsing. As a final touch, her damp ears were wrapped up in a dry, heated towel so that she could relax them without the uncomfortable dripping down her bare back (there was the option to use an "ear brace", designed for an identical purpose, but being a humble farm-bunny and because those things itched her, Judy opted for the towel). The porcelain tub was filled with such an aroma and warmth, that it caused her to giggle at the idea that she might very well be stepping into a perfectly steeped cup of tea. The water was clear, however, save for a faint cloudiness from the salts and oils used for it, and with her legs outstretched and head laid back, so soaked with her toweled-ears lying along an extended headrest (a common feature of rabbit bathrooms varying in style and design depending on location). Though deep in enemy territory, Judy needed the time to bolster herself - mind, body, and spirit - for the looming battle.

 _Grav's arrogance is his weak point_ , she considered, _He's not stupid enough to underestimate me, though. The dress, the dinner… even giving me full run of the manor… he knows I won't do anything that would make anyone question my integrity, but by golly, with all the rope he gave me I became the darling of this household in a day._ Judy allowed herself a contented smile, even though she wanted more than anything to grin wide and sly, _I've got this place inside-and-out… least enough to make my get-away. I've even got you figured out, Grav, everything I need to give you the slip at the opportune moment. You want "four minutes"? I'll give you four minutes of unconsciousness, plenty of time to ditch whatever dress you'll have me in and hop out the window to freedom. Think I won't run across an open field in my skivvies, huh? Clearly, you've never been through the ZPD academy. I'll be back in Bunnyburrow before midnight, just you wait and see._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

A squirrel named "Wart" destined and ordained to be king by a wizard is a reference to "The Sword and the Stone" with Arthur and Merlin, as they were squirrels in that, and yes, the legendary King Arthur in this Zootopia is a squirrel. Follow up, we have King Richard Lionheart from "Robin Hood", acting as the go-to time period for "ancient times" in Zootopia.

"Underland" is a reference to the 2010 film "Alice in Wonderland", wherein the denizens say that the place is actually called "Underland".

When Magnus says " _me_ , which is _far_ from 'good'.", he means that literally.

"Damocelotes" is a pun on "Damocles" and "ocelot".

The names Magnus, Clea, and Grav are references to the forces of the universe: magnetism, nuclear (weak/strong), and gravity.

"Plum" and "Tucker" were, after their visit with Judy, "plumb tuckered".

"Detectives Lovey & Pib" are characters based off a vignette I wrote.

The scene with Esther and Judy chasing Nick around the kitchen is from back in Brave(17), and the "recursion of despair" with Judy and Gideon is _way_ back in Trustworthy(24). Consult your local library for Myers-Briggs and Jung personality types to learn more about "reflectors".

Judy's emotional association comes from Trustworthy(27), and "Gideon's head as payment" is back in Brave(14).

Buckley Stagmire returns from Brave(21), Laverne "Lovey" Hopps is from Brave(1,2) and the "pruning knife" of Piberius Savage _might_ just be something Judy heard about... _somewhere_... _hmmm_... Also, make initials of the name in "Dr. Henry Howard's Homes" and then say it out loud...

Dawson, as least this iteration of him, comes from a conversation between Nick and Gideon back in Trustworthy(25), and Judy's drug-coma from Brave(3), and touched on again in Brave(13). Big Gid, Sissy, and Nic, along with the Burrow turning to ash, are from Brave(6,7).

Thanks for reading! Thanks for reviewing! If it's neat stuff you're needing, then keep on what you're doing!


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note:**

Welcome to the conclusion of Brave! I hope you liked reading it as much as I did writing it. Next up is "Loyal", so keep your ears up and eyes open because we're about halfway through The Neverwere Moments. That said, enjoy!

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The swooning and envy of Judy's dress were not exaggerated by her bathhouse attendants, indeed after all was said and done, with minuscule adjustments made for the gown to fit the curves of her physique like a glove, Judy found herself amazed at her own reflection. The fur of her face, neck, and upper chest was already made-up with so fine a powder, it looked as though she were covered in silver bristles rather than a cloudy gray pelt; likewise, the rich, deep gloss upon her lips, shadow upon her eyelids, and the perky perfume of fresh wildflowers did all the more to accentuate a natural, more feminine beauty than "Jude the Dude" was used to (even if she _was_ often the subject of her sisters' makeup sessions in the past, and as it always happened, managed to get _something_ in her mouth). Standing before the mirror of her room, regaled in a lily-white dress with lavender accents and a silvery lace that looked as a ballgown revisioned in the modern era, Judy and her entourage were quiet for a full minute as they gazed.

"Like moonlight housed in a faerie's lantern," awed the rabbit who fitted her dress, and he went on to say, "Only one _final_ thing, Ms. Hopps… but, if I may request that you… close your eyes, first, hmm?"

"Oh," replied Judy, a soft tone as she looked over her bare shoulder, for the dress was low-cut upon her chest with a downy sash that looped around each arm, smiled as she turned forward again and erected her ears with eyes closed, "Of course, yes." As expected, the weight of jewelry lay upon her bosom and the dainty sound of a clasp behind her neck, but as she opened her giddy eyes once more, Judy was thunderstruck, petrified as she recognized the opals now adorning her. "'Tears for a Sunset'," she squeaked, too terrified to even touch them, "I… I can't _wear_ these, they belong in a museum, not on my _neck_!"

"The Young Master insists," said the dress-maker in restrained excitement, "and it will only be for the meal. He wanted to see _you_ in them."

A horrid lead weight dropped into Judy's stomach as she realized the significance of the carcanet she wore, and the nearly identical colorations she had to her great-great-aunt, Laverne Hopps. _What are you playing at, Grav?_ she suspected, but maintained composure and inclined her head, even allowing the faintest touch of her fingertips brush a single opal, "Then I shall do my host and ancestor the honor of wearing these treasured gems," she said, and earned for her performance a round of crooning admiration. _I can work with this_ , Judy then decided and followed Hilde (still in her stark black suit) out into the hall, _I'll just need to be… a bit more careful escaping is all… taking an extra few seconds to remove this before jumping out the window is certainly doable._

What awaited outside the dormitories was certainly one of the electric carts done up to look more like an old-timey carriage. _He certainly likes his performance pieces…_ sighed Judy, but accepted assistance up into the seat by the driver before he sat behind the rectangular steering wheel (Hilde climbed in on her own). The ride was silent (even the engine was barely audible) as Judy looked about at the golden baked grounds, feeling a bit odd that she was being driven around dressed to the nines as she was, even if the grounds were mostly vacant. _It looks like Knotash isn't too different from Bunnyburrow after all_ , Judy noticed, and looked up into the "sky" at the mid-to-late afternoon "sun", telling the time of day for all little bunnies to head inside.

Knotash, unlike the other two of the Tri-Burrows, was mostly underground and beneath a grand, artificial tree (with a storied past all its own) that acted as a collector of solar energy to power every home it contained; its branches housed the close-knit squirrel community which maintained it, and the close-knit rabbit community inside its root system maintained a water pump from a deep, natural spring. From a distance, the enormous tree was indistinguishable from the surrounding _real_ forest in which it resided, and any emissions (from Hexward or the Hopps Processing Plant, for example) were safely dispersed, so in effect, made Knotash a self-contained microcosm within Zootopia (a not wholly uncommon occurrence, similar to Little Rodentia, and permitted so long as the city's laws were upheld, and the ZPD kept in the loop with the local Watch). The underside of the roots acted as a dispenser of sunlight to the rabbits living beneath, mimicking the sky to the nanosecond, and as it was for both farm- and city-bunnies alike, as well as most small prey species, late afternoon was akin to evening.

The dining hall was perhaps one of the largest buildings of the Hopps estate, easily its very heart. The main hall was divided by folding walls that allowed for shifts of rabbits to eat while simultaneous cleaning occurred in adjacent areas, and for special occasions, opened up in totality. The room prepared for Grav and Judy was not part of the main hall but a smaller, private section set away and overlooking the gardens (and as was custom for rabbit houses of the upper class, only a single story for any outer-edge rooms, with higher stories kept towards the center of the building, and any further stories kept underground). Judy was escorted past marble columns and sleek tiled floors, leafy potted plants and ivy-adorned statues in a tasteful rustic endeavor, to what she soon came to identify as one of the more… _private_ wings of the estate. _The Sigil of the House of Blessings…_ she observed, looking up at a cross-cut square emblem overlaid with the silhouette of two blackbirds, whose combined four wings spread into a plumed 'X', a pair of legs facing to the right and the head facing to the left, ' _Moving forward, looking back'… and these ones are so detailed, they almost look real…_

Seeing two crows on a windowsill was among the strongest omens in the Hexward Tenets, for the birds themselves were often depicted as couriers for the departed. One meant it came for someone in the household, but a _second_ meant that whoever was deemed ready to pass on would, at least, not have to make the journey alone (and if the birds arrived in error because no one died that day, all the better). _Ravens_ , in contrast, were allied with wolves and not given such reverence, because their presence meant a terrible, gruesome death (or were themselves tricksters, and foul fortune was afoot…).

Immediately outside the expecting dining room was the square-jawed guard who, like Hilde, stood at stoic attention in his black suit, and was, in fact, the same guard Judy saw tailing her host earlier that day. "Ms. Hopps," he said in greeting, and though his voice was like stone, his eyes betrayed his awe. He opened the door and stepped aside as Judy curtseyed, and then walked in. Perhaps it was how she prepared herself for what was to come, or what she anticipated from a day's worth of precedence, but the two suited rabbits seemed to bid a final farewell as the doors closed behind her.

 _Once more into the brink…_ she determined.

What Judy first noticed was that the room was fairly large though not very high, the ceiling a gentle dome with a single, brilliant lamp at the very center with sconces around the rim. One arch of the circular room was the balcony affording her escape, perhaps wide enough for less than a half-dozen bunnies to stand shoulder-to-shoulder across and walk through without discomfort. In the center, beneath that bright but soft lamp, sat a single long table, its cloth off-white and boasting bright, pearlescent dishes with shiny silverware, a low centerpiece of red, pink, and yellow carnations with baby's breath, flanked by ornate candlesticks and tall wax pillars crowned in flickering amber.

' _Little moth, little moth'_ , Judy cautioned herself, staring hard at her host seated in the facing spot, framed by the dancing blaze reflecting off candlesticks and carnations.

Grav rose at her approach, the slide of his chair muted by one of Schubat's many musical pieces played from an iPaw sound system stationed nearby. He smiled. That same… "stitched" smile testing Judy's iron will, and the more she thought about it the easier it was to imagine his face was little more than a cruel mockery, behind which roiled an unbridled enmity. "Judy," he cooed, strolling around the long edge of the table, a harshly sharp piece of furniture in a decor of otherwise round embrace, until he came to stop at her chair, "You look _exquisite_." The crisp, pitch-black tuxedo was an outfit to boast, inside of which a severe white shirt emphasized a blood-red vest and bowtie, his jacket sporting long tails in the back and pointed lapels in the front, with a boutonniere made from scarlet and violet foxglove flowers.

She stood tall, polite, and strong. _Alright, Uncle Terry, time to put your lessons through their paces,_ Judy thought, for though she had been in Grav's company many times before, never had they been _alone_ before that day. And indeed, even with he who shared the time of her birth down to the second standing not a few feet away, Judy felt "alone" in that room. His voice echoed in her head with the same gravitational declaration she finally distinguished only that morning: **I'm here.** "And _you_ look quite dapper," commented Judy. Her eyebrows arched, spotting a corsage with a flower arrangement matching his own sitting on the table.

It was lifted without missing a beat, removed from its clear plastic box, and presented, "If I may?" he offered, dark eyes flicking to her wrist.

A stiff, resolute left paw was presented, and so adorned. _Maybe he never went to prom or something…_ reasoned Judy, and smiled in appreciation to her host as he then pulled out the chair for her. "Thank you," she accepted, and then tucked the dress in behind her knees as the chair was slid carefully under her. With Grav's back turned, Judy allowed herself a fretful frown, _Ugh, it's like I'm on a date with a spider…_ but a polite smile perked anew as her host took his own seat.

"Well," he said, "This is delightful, but I don't care for waiting in a restaurant if I can help it, so let's get some salads and order our meals, and then we'll engage in some civil conversation." He lifted a small bell and gave it a few ' _dings'_ to immediately open the door at the far end of the room, thus conjuring three sharply-dressed waiters: one with a pitcher of cold water and a bottle in an ice bucket, another with two menus, and the third carrying two covered plates. They glided in single-file across the floor, and though proper and neat, looked cordial.

Both sitting rabbits had a glass filled, its coolness confirmed by the sheen of condensation formed where it was poured, and similarly, both received a plate of fresh, leafy salads with cucumbers, croutons, sliced carrots, wedges of tomatoes and sprinkled with a light oil; even in its chaotic spread, the salad itself looked artistically arranged. A menu was handed to Judy, but not Grav since he promptly said, "I'll have the usual."

 _Alright, Nick, time to put your… 'lessons' to use, too,_ thought Judy, and smiled to politely decline the menu, "I'll have what _he's_ having."

A soft clatter jarred from the waiters, stopped dead where they stood as they, and Grav as well, directed their undivided attention to Judy; the only definitive proof that time passed was the flickering candle and classical music. "If I may suggest something from the menu, Ms. Hopps…?" asked the waiter as he kept the item in question half-extended.

… _Welp, I should not have done that,_ but Judy continued her sturdy smile, "I insist."

"The lady insists," affirmed Grav to the worrying waiter, that smile of his no less sharp, and then turned to the ice bucket with a glass bottle inside in polite declination, "I will need my wits about me tonight, I think," he said. With water glasses filled and salads peppered accordingly, the waiters filed back out.

 _Shoot, he's onto me,_ she inwardly huffed, _Nick makes his whole… 'I totally meant to do that' thing look way too easy…_ Judy began to eat her appetizer after laying a napkin across her lap and taking up the salad fork, "Now then," she said, "We have quite a _few_ conversations to tend to, as I recall. Where shall we begin?"

The lettuce crunched between his teeth, and in proper tabletop etiquette, did not answer until his mouth was cleared, "Far be it for a gentlemammal to choose for a guest _and_ lady," he answered, "After you, Judy."

She hummed and tapped her chin with the end of the fork, "Let us continue our chat on the _boogierabbit_ '," decided Judy, "You _did_ say you were more comfortable talking about it at the dinner table."

"So I _did_ ," he agreed, "He is quite the storied individual. Curiously, the first recorded telling isn't until some hundreds of years _after_ he's purported to have shown up," Grav petered off.

"Oh, that's not _so_ suspicious," dismissed Judy, "'Unlucky Hect' is, more likely than not, an allegorical character designed by or even _based_ off Mr. _Hector_ Howard himself, as something of a… an _amalgamation_ of the horrors he witnessed," she explained professorially, and steeled herself against some of the choice entries she recalled to point out, "Over time, he likely became his own legend and was fit into historical epochs accordingly." Her fork clinked against the bottom of the salad bowl with decisiveness as she brought up another helping of its greenery.

"'That which you gaze upon, you become', or something like that," Grav said, "What did you do with that journal, by the way? Normally when I leave it lying about, my siblings are more than apt to return it."

 _So you_ do _want to be seen with it,_ accused Judy, "It's still in my room, left out in the open and might I say, it got more than a few sidelong glances." She sat upright with a much more proper tone, to say, "Which actually brings me to what you said this morning about 'watching over' me. What did you mean by that, _exactly_?"

Grav dragged the fork languidly through residual dressing as he shifted in his seat to rest a cheek in his palm and watch one of the candles' flame, it flickering off the dark glint of his eyes, "Some of my brothers thought they'd 'pay you a visit' before you had a chance to wake up, which I really couldn't permit. Forgive them their youthful transgressions, they just need to be… _taught_."

 _I was planning to escape after dessert, but I can't stay that long,_ dreaded Judy, staring between the candles as the wax cylinder's rendition of "Little Moth" ran through her head. "You _protected_ me, then," she managed with reforming composure.

"Hmm?" he grunted, thought on it, and then chuckled, "Well, I suppose I _did_. 'What a miserable world it is that _I_ am called to shoulder the mantle of mercy', and all that," he quoted.

Judy paused a full beat, "'Sword of justice', you mean."

"Yes, of course."

Her throat tightened, "And as they say, 'boys will be boys'," she forced out, _But if they were any brother of mine, they'd get a bit more than an evil eye if they tried anything like that…_ "And since _that_ was the final entry in his journal, do you happen to know what Hector meant by it? I can only surmise he went out to exact revenge on the fox who attacked Lovey."

"You say it so factually, it's almost ironic," he mused, and then flicked his ears, "The entrées are quite ready, though, so we should pause this delightful talk of ours…"

Her own ears swiveled, only to make a determination. _I don't hear anything…_ and then remembered something from the night prior, about how Grav timed the microwave precisely from his holding cell, _He must have an acute internal clock, so he might know exactly how long it takes to make his 'usual'._

In glided those same three waiters, stiff and cordial in their demeanor as the first brought in two covered dishes, the second a single platter, and the third brought in another bucket before gathering up the salad bowls. Before each of them was a covered plate set, and simultaneously their meals revealed.

 _Oh, biscuits…_ thought Judy, jaw clenching as what her nose warned her of turned out to be true: "the usual" Grav ordered turned out to be a serving of roasted chicken breast in some sort of sauce and garnish. The sauce itself proved irrelevant to Judy as the smell of cooked meat nearly threw her backward in nausea. _Keep it together, Jude…_ she urged, knowing that if it weren't for the makeup the paleness of her face would likely be visible through her fur. Purple eyes darted up to her host, but he was not leering at her as she assumed he would… rather, he'd already tied a napkin to his front and was cutting a slice of the chicken. Even amongst the ambient classical music, Judy's keen ears could hear the wretched squelch of an herbivore's grinding teeth press into flesh with efforted mastication. The waiters were, to her counted blessings, as uncomfortable as she was.

"You know," said Grav after he finished his first bite, "You don't ever _really_ get used to it, but go on, dig in," and gestured with his knife, before cutting another slice.

Her own knife gleamed off to the right, and a tremor wracked her spine. _Keep. It. Together,_ she urged, inhaling a slow breath to pick up the blade's handle, and with her left, the fork, to steady the slab of bird meat and cut off a corner. As the flesh-laden utensil rose from the plate, Judy could feel the eyes of the waiters upon her, no doubt their own reserve of steel tested as harshly as her own. The scent of carnivorism inched nearer and nearer to her nose until it was all she could do to keep her mouth open and force the fork nearer still. Every bunny-thought in her head begged, screamed, and pleaded to stop. To end this _madness_. To repel and revile at being this… this _thing_ that was _not_ her…

"Hold up," ordered Grav, like an icy wind blowing away smoke, and gestured to the waiter holding the platter.

Judy dropped the fork to its plate as both arms fell to her sides, heaving as one waiter nearly threw the cover over the roasted chicken as though it were radioactive, and pulled it away just as quickly. In its place was the platter, and from it a much nicer smell. Regaining her composure as surely as she could, Judy tucked one paw under the tablecloth to carefully hide the knife she managed to swipe, secreting it into the pouch formed by the dress between her knees, and beneath the cover of her napkin. The waiters were, to the relief of all involved, dismissed.

"You were actually going to eat it," he stated matter-of-factly and drank a few swigs of water.

" _Well_ , it would be rude not to at least _try_ what I ordered," she managed. _We're going into the endgame, Grav. Those waiters don't want to come back in here, not while you're choking down that chicken for whatever demented reason you gave yourself, and I bet you won't stop until it's all gone, so I have plenty of time to figure out how to subdue you,_ she thought, watching how he would tug on the collar of his shirt, "But now that we _are_ eating again-"

" _I'm_ eating," he corrected and forced down another bite.

With an unamused deadpan, Judy lifted the lid's handle away unceremoniously, her ears up and stomach growling as she immediately recognized the meal: her mother's three-bean casserole with a side of buttered mashed potatoes. The smell was heavenly and washed through Judy's nose, head, even her heart and perhaps her very _soul_ like a soothing whisper, and while it was not her favorite dish, it was a welcome reprieve all the same. A glimpse was spared at the rabbit across the table, but he was busied with his own meal and looked quite intent to do so. _He wanted to tell me something with this or mock me, I'm sure of it, but couldn't be bothered to see my reaction?_ pondered Judy, and set the cover upon the table to pick up a spoon and have herself a taste. _This is… almost exactly like Mom's cooking…_ and slowed her chewing as she tasted the "secret" zucchini-and-carrot sauce that, so far as Judy knew, only Bonnie Hopps knew how to make, but more importantly, was the same recipe that she gave her, Nick, and Gideon the night before.

 _This is definitely Mom's cooking, there's no mistaking it, so she must have sent some home with Uncle Magnus and Aunt Clea before they left the house…_ Her chewing slowed, as though working her way through molasses, _It would have been in the same plasticware she always used… the same that we hid the drugged whipped cream in… I really hope I'm wrong on this, but could it be his way of saying that we didn't stop the drug test today…?_ she dreaded and gulped audibly, _I need to get in touch with Nick ASAP._

"That was actually on the menu you were handed, you know," informed Grav, snapping her from her rumination.

"Yes, I'm sure your chefs did a _bang-up_ job nuking this for me," she kindly scathed and then noticed out of the corner of her eye the rim of a bucket sitting near Grav. _One of the waiters brought that in, but I figured it was another bottle of cider…_ and as she ate, watched how every bite from her host was marginally more difficult, _Oh my gosh, it must take every ounce of willpower just to eat that… I mean, I can't for the life of me figure out_ why _, except as some sort power play, especially since he seems to it on a regular basis, but the bucket must be there to catch anything that comes back up… eww… It also means that I just need to break his concentration at the right moment, he'll be… distracted, and I can dash for the balcony._

"Now then, the aforementioned 'sword of justice'," he reminded after another sip of water, "Hector did, indeed, seek revenge and it was… Well, let's just say that the boogierabbit is perhaps the darkest, most evil tale we, as bunnies, have in our storybooks, and as to be expected, is a cautionary one that warns against carnivorism," and so inserted another slice of chicken into his mouth.

 _That can't be the whole thing. Just what else are you hiding, Grav?_ "He said while _engaging_ in said act…"

"Bag-o'-Bones," he ignored, "the sharp-tooth, skeletal bunny missing one foot and half-an-ear, dragging around a meathook and a bone saw… a _cursed_ rabbit if ever there was one."

Judy's next bite hovered between her teeth, and slowly sat upright to set the fork down, brow furrowing and jaw clenching as the utensil clattered. "Of course…" she said quietly, _Another reason for his tale was to caution young bunnies against those that are 'cursed' because it was believed to invoke predatory hunger, but..._ "I'll bet that's why you hit Bo with your car yesterday: you're _envious_."

Grav grunted, and brought a napkin up to his mouth to deposit his current bite of chicken into it, and then snarled at his guest… faintly, though, as he also tried to leer, "Of _him_? Over _you_ , I suppose. Your fame has gone to your head, Judy-"

"That's _jealousy_ ," she coolly rebutted, "I speak of _envy_ , a very special kind of hatred harbored for possession or status of another, as opposed to affections of a third party," she began in scholarly vigor, even though as she continued she could not deny the mounting pity she felt, "Correct me should I err, Grav Hopps, but it's why you identify with the carnivorous and 'cursed' Bag-o'-Bones, and why you eat chicken on a regular basis. You have _muscular hyperatrophy_ just like Bo, except unlike managing it with exercise, a healthy diet, and vitamins, _you_ force poultry down your throat…"

Quiet answered immediately and vehemently, but only at first. "And I hardly had to spell it out for you," he said coldly, "Ah well, now you know, and _yet_ it changes absolutely _nothing._ "

Her stare did not soften, "But to see him walking around, healthy and happy, must tear you up inside."

The dark eyes glared across the table as his utensils were set down. "I'm _sure_ jolly Bo Briar has his fair share of doubters, amongst his throngs of hugging, _snuggling_ admirers," he began, each word gaining vitriol as he spoke, "Even in our schoolyard days when _I_ was hardly distinguishable from the other bunnies, he had the decrepit body to earn his name 'Bo Branches', but _shucks_ , if he didn't grow out of that…" He then slumped into his chair, "But he eats his greens and does his squats and _there we are_ , built like a truck. It _hardly_ seems fair, does it? He gets a way out of this ' _curse'_ and only needs to live with the stigma, while _I_ suffer _this_ every day," he scowled and gestured at the meat with disgust.

"But rabbits aren't _meant_ to eat-!" rebuked Judy.

"As if _I_ didn't know!" he bellowed, chair scraping across the floor behind him as he rocketed to his feet, jostling the table beneath his slamming paws. Grav's nose wiggled in the resonating silence broken only by the omnipresent Schubat composition, and then he reached back to return his chair beneath him. After smoothing out the undisturbed fur atop his head, Grav picked up his utensils again to say, "Apologies, Judy, that was uncouth of me."

Likewise, Judy repositioned her own marginally askew chair to support her as she sat. Quick ears swiveled, catching any sound of panic or hurried help, but there was none, only the uninterrupted music. Hearing the cutting of another slice of chicken, Judy made to acquire another bite of casserole. _To know two rabbits with that same disorder, though,_ she pondered, _Though genetic, it still varies in degrees, depending on the individual… Bunnyburrow and Hares' Bluff have their own views on it and considering Felix Lapis devoted himself to medicine to find a cure, I can't help but wonder if Knotash has a more… accepting viewpoint, too._ Her ears, already up, stiffened as she watched her host ingest and masticate, noting the strained movement of his throat, _A rare, genetic disorder… I'd bet you two are somehow related, even though Bo's from Podunk in Deersbrooke_ , she thought, and then said, "You called him a 'half-hare' yesterday," but was only answered by a pausing half-shrug. _I'd also bet you're hiding something else about him, and if so, I've got to time this just right…_ she postulated before rocketing to her own feet with the scrape of a chair behind her to loudly, quickly, and matter-of-factly accuse, "You know who Bo's parents are!"

Grav's eyes bulged as he gagged, clapping a paw over his mouth as he dove from his seat to the bucket on the floor, and almost immediately certain, telltale sounds commenced.

The half-cocked ruse proved fruitful, so Judy threw her chair to the side with one paw and clutched the knife with the other to hide it still, breaking into a sprint towards the balcony, but in her well-laid plans, she had not fully considered all she was attired in. The dress, beautiful and ornate, was not meant for running, not when she was also trying to maintain a secreted grip on a weapon. Her toe caught the billowing folds in the front and halted her precious seconds as she was then faced with two life-or-death options in a forward lurch: roll and recover but drop the knife, or land against the floor to prepare for a fight. In an instant, her ears stung with instinctual danger to opt for the latter choice as a familiar, gut-wrenching yell bellowed behind her. She braced her fall onto a shoulder and then her back, only just dodging the dining table that slid across the floor in a scream to then collide with the columns on either side of the balcony with a tumultuous clatter. From behind a raised arm (the other keeping the blade out of view), Judy gawked as Grav strode over to the disheveled table; what struck her most about the current situation was that from her vantage point, she could recognize a revolver tucked into the back of his pants. _Oh, biscuits…_ she repeated.

Grav picked up a knocked-over glass that, due to its bulbous shape, still had water inside. A napkin cleaned his face and a swig his mouth and flinging the glass to the floor broke through the hanging minute with a fierce shattering. "Did you think escaping was that easy?" he demanded, trembling still and putting a paw over his mouth to swallow a gag, disrupting the dark enmity in his eyes for a single instant before he reached up to loosen his bowtie and tear open the top button for deep, furious heaving.

"Stay back!" she warned as he stepped closer.

"Just jump out the window, scamper off into the night? _Hmm_?" he grunted, "Duck under the garden wall, or maybe slip around the pool house?" Grav continued, advancing still, "Maybe you could escape out the garage, or behind the aviary, or through a gap in the hedge maze?"

Judy's purple eyes stared up at him, darting down and away in realization, _I… I thought about those routes, but they didn't seem feasible from this starting point… and I didn't even know there was one around the pool house…_ Her fingers tightened around the knife's handle.

"I'm sure you learned a lot from my siblings today, Little Moth, but who do you think _taught_ them how to flee this gilded cage?" he posited, and loomed, "Who do you think closed those escape routes forever, for the one chance to get _you_ here, now?" Grav looked up and about, ears swiveling and jaw clenching in muted disapproval.

 _Just a little closer…_ calculated Judy, glancing at his right paw for any indication that he made to reach for his revolver. "Is that why you threw a _table_ at me?"

His dark gaze snapped to her, "You left me with little choice; couldn't have you running about… I'm sure with all your sleuthing, you know that _I_ am the _only_ way out of here…"

"Oh, I _heard_ ," she retorted, "A hushed rumor that whoever follows _you_ is never seen again."

"Irrefutably," Grav confirmed, his snarl softened, "So, I suggest you make it _easy_ on yourself."

 _Bad, bad, bad…_ "You _protected_ me this morning, though…" she reasoned, slowly scooting back as he stepped nearer, gaining concern as a wave of fear suddenly washed over her, but forcing herself to focus.

"Yes, Judy, and I still _can_ ," he assured, that stitched smile returning with a vengeance, "I will protect you _forever._ We'll be together, just you and me, our crossed stars-"

"Grav, no!"

"There's nothing else tying you here, the same as I," he argued, but the smile wavered as he eyed her awkwardness in the gaps of her battle readiness, "Right?"

"Umm…"

"You left nothing and nobody behind, right?" Grav doubted, "That's why I let you call Bo earlier. _Right_?"

" _Well_ …"

Grav contorted where he stood, tugging at his ears and biting back a brutal howl.

Judy grabbed at the momentary distraction to press any advantage she could and sprung up… or tried to as she only managed to flail closer to the table. _Curse this dress!_

He was on her in an instant, straddling her waist with a fierce grip pinning her throat to the floor and slowly squeezing, "Saint Judy… _lied_ ," he growled, the darkness in his eyes all the deeper as he squeezed until her knife fell with stilling clatter. "Well now… what's _this_?" he asked, staring at the bladed implement, and then reaching over to pick it up, "Such an _odd_ thing to have tucked away… Why this must be your 'sword of justice', but I'm curious: after you kill me, what is it you plan on doing next?"

Again and again, she "heard" him, that furious scratching which seemed to say " **I'm here** " _ad nauseam_ , only realizing too late that his "emptiness" she convinced herself of was no more than a comforting lie… "Not _kill_ ," she choked out, "I'm not like _you_ ," and felt torrents of fear and anger but bolstered herself against it all, even when every attempt she made to curl a fist or buck him off was met with the restriction of her windpipe; like a pit of quicksand, her struggling only strengthened him.

His face twisted into a jagged scowl, riling as the fur bristled from his neck up to his ear tips, "Like… a _monster_ , you mean."

Judy stared up at the bared teeth, bracing her paws around his wrist to gulp what breath she could, her mind running a mile-a-minute. _That scream, this face… it's the same as last night, but…_

Grav's nostrils flared as his face seemed to split between sadistic glee and rage, "A bloodthirsty fiend in mortal guise."

 _Even with everything Nick jabbed, he didn't react like this until…_ she thought, and looked higher still until she caught the raised cheeks right below his eyes flanking a scrunched nose, _Not until Gideon mentioned the bunny that pounced a bird…_

"The _boogierabbit_ that stalks these accursed halls. Hide the youngin's, or else I might _eat_ them!" he barked, and held out the knife gleaming in the sconce light.

Higher still her gaze rose until she at last locked eyes with Grav. _I felt an overwhelming fear_ then _, too, but I thought it was from Nick or Gid, and I'm feeling it_ now… _but…_

" _Yes_ … you spent all day looking for me, Little Moth, well _here_ I am."

 _Weird…_ she wondered, the glint of the knife in her peripheral vision, which in a split second could end her, but another thought occurred to her, _I don't think I've ever actually…_ looked _into his eyes before, only ever avoided them… for good reason, I suppose…_

"But as brave and loved as you are, accept that it is _I_ , the monster you sought to slay, who ushers you into the great beyond, and will watch over you ever after," he growled and raised the blade to its vorpal apex.

 _I've spoken with a murderer once before and felt their cold eagerness,_ and trembled at the memory _, but that's not this_ , she realized, and instead felt neither relief nor confusion but some perplexing combination of the two, so she watched as he kept that knife high overhead… and waited.

Grav heaved through his teeth in a grimace, "With only _one_ thrust…"

Judy grew calmer, just like Uncle Terry taught her when dealing with an onslaught of emotion, and as Nick taught her, followed the flow of the situation, "Yeah, that's all it would take." _Only a little bit of physical pressure… I could have done it myself at my lowest point,_ she rued as a mist gathered at the corners of her eyes, _His voice, though… it still sounds like scratching, but… almost like someone's trapped outside, in the dark… or inside a coffin…_

His arm slacked at the elbow with a barely audible grunt, before he raised it up again, "And it would be, a… a _glorious_ fountain of… of _crimson_ …"

"Probably," she agreed, and hardly blinked as she kept her eyes on his, and likewise, he hardly seemed able to avert his gaze. _His eyes really are dark… it's hard to tell in this light, but they're kinda purplish… A sort of dark, royal purple, I guess… I wonder if anyone's told him that?_

The knife wavered, and was instead held at shoulder level if still pointed at her heart, and then his brow furrowed as he grunted in frustration and confusion. "I… I'm a _monster_ ," he reminded her, and measured the knife against her chest, "And I… I _can_ end you…"

"Maybe…"

He slowly turned the knife away, paw relaxing off her throat the slightest bit, "It… it should be so _simple_ ," he dreaded, the tool bobbing directly below their vision, "Less than a pound of pressure would do it…"

Judy inclined the faintest angle by bracing the floor, her throat pushing against his palm and it was his palm which gave way, along with the knife-clutching fist. "It's not easy to take a life, is it Grav?" she hushed, remembering one of her favorite lessons of the Hexward Tenets (for some… _obvious_ symbolic reasons). It was about a humble villager that stayed a mountainous demon by showing a mirror made of pure silver, for it reflected what was " _evil's greatest fear: that there was still some good in them worth saving"_. A downy paw rose up from the knuckles wrapped around her neck to the knuckles wrapped around the blade's handle and drew it free to toss it aside. In measured degrees, Judy slid out from under him, never once breaking line of sight, and neither it seemed, could _he_.

Grav sat back on his heels as he continued to stare, jaw slacked and heaving all the same, paws weakly clutching the air as he pulled them closer. "Why… why can't I kill you…?" he begged in stunned revelation, for without the adrenaline, without the fight, all that remained was who he truly was: a damaged, wretched child hiding behind bluster and a smile.

Despite her dress, the twisted carcanet, the wrecked corsage, Judy sat regally upon her knees and leaned in, to which he recoiled, but she reached out to draw him nearer until their chests touched. "Maybe it's because you're not a monster," she whispered, and continued to say as she felt his weight slump forward, "It's okay… I'm here." Slowly, Judy slipped a paw into his coat and pulled the gun out from where he tucked it, _Phew… I didn't think that'd work twice in as many days…_ she sighed with inward relief, and then rubbed his back as he quaked, _And just like Nick taught me: stay cool and act like you're in charge, it'll help diffuse a situation and lets you offer a solution that better suits you, and then you can make that one easy for them._

Carefully, she sat him back onto his ankles once more and she on her own, and without even trying to hide it (for she sincerely doubted Grav would try stopping her), Judy opened the revolver and dumped out its two bullets. … _Six chambers…_ she counted, checked it, and then her palm, and then the firearm again, and recounted the ammo, back and forth until dumbly saying, "Two bullets…"

"You must hate me all the more, now," he muttered, and slid onto his haunches with his knees up, forehead held to them with both arms draping alongside his ears in exhaustion and lethargy, "I thought I was strong enough to save you, but it was only an empty promise…"

"Grav…?"

"If I'm not a _monster_ …" he neglected.

"Grav."

"…Then what _am_ I?"

" _Graham_ ," she instead tried with as much strained courage as she could muster.

Immediately, his eyes flung to up to see her as if for the first time, and he lightly rubbed his scalp while glancing down in thought, "Your fox called me that, didn't he…" She held out the clinking pair in her palm with insistence, to which he stared forlornly. "You're in danger, Judy," he said unironically, "but I couldn't let them have you, knowing what they would do to you…"

"Who's 'they'?" she pressed, "What would 'they' do?"

He was quiet and curled up a bit.

"Please… Graham, tell me. Why am I in danger?" _Specifically, I mean._ When he remained unresponsive, Judy moved around to sit adjacent, an arm grabbing his shoulder to ease his trembling, _Okay, just like how I learned to help the distraught, but without the benefit of time to let them figure it out on their own_. "You're not a monster," she reiterated, breathed, and leaned on him a bit, much to his surprise, "And I'm not a… hero." His head turned as he peeked an eye out at her, "We're just… scared, cute little bunny rabbits in a big, broken world, trying to make sense of it all… trying to make it a better place the only way we know how."

His arms folded and he looked away, head resting against them with a leaden sigh, "I cannot," he stated plainly, "What use is there for a monster that cannot kill; what hope is there for a bunny that cannot love."

"Don't say that," Judy admonished as kindly as she could, "You have friends and family, brothers and sisters-"

"Each and every one of them fears me more than they could love me," he interrupted, "Every touch met with revulsion… they hear me speak and cower… It… it's _painful_ , being surrounded yet isolated."

Judy was dumbstruck, "Have you _never_ had a friend?" she found herself asking, and as his ears stiffened back and eyes stared into nothing, her heart suddenly filled with pity, "You _lost_ a friend…"

He spoke so low it was barely audible, "His name was 'Cheepy'."

' _Cheepy'…? What was that, a nickname? It sounds like something you'd give to a…_ Judy's pity-filled heart could no longer sustain its own weight and dropped into her stomach, _You flipped when Gideon mentioned that bunny who pounced a bird…_ "What happened to Cheepy?" she dared to ask.

Several beats passed before Grav unclenched his toes and at last confessed, "I ate him. He was tied to my wrist and would land on my finger to sing… I hardly remember him but I do remember that… that I loved him… and then, they say, in a fit of bloodlust, I…"

"He was the bird you pounced as a toddler…"

A cringe and whimper seized him, "I _screamed_ , seeing what I had done… that horrid shriek still rings in my ears, and sometimes I can't help but scream _again_ ," he groaned, and then shifted his weight to lean against Judy, much to her surprise, "Sometimes… it's not so loud… like when you're happy…"

Her ears warmed, "You mean, when you-?"

"No," he quickly corrected, " _You_ , Judy. When you're happy and nearby…" Grav stared a moment, blinked, and then lowered his knees to sit cross-legged, "Mutually exclusive circumstances, unfortunately. I almost felt it at the restaurant yesterday, when you were with Bo… and then when you were with your foxes…" His ears sprung up again, stiffing from them to his toes as he trembled anew to state, "The time is nigh, and they will not be happy with me."

 _Okay, okay… okay, he's probably talking about Uncle Magnus and… some group that intends to do me harm… but why, does he think he can hold me hostage?_ "Gra _ham_ ," she caught herself, and tried to smile, if as small as she could, "You said you could get me out of here, right? You know how?"

"All the ways are sealed," he admitted dully, "It was the only leverage I had to get tonight's dinner. Even if there _were_ a way off the estate, the streets of Knotash might as well belong to _him_ anyway."

 _Shoot…_ "You mean Magnus, right?" she asked, "Well… maybe you can keep me hidden in the manor, you must know all kinds of secret passages in here, considering who built the place, and it will only be for a few hours so that the ZPD can come in with a search warrant, arrest Magnus and his buddies-"

"'Buddies'… what _buddies_?"

"The 'they' you mentioned," she answered, "They want to get back at me and my friends for foiling their plot at the TBR."

Grav was horrorstruck and turned on her to grasp her arms, " _No!_ " he pleaded, and to her rapt bewilderment, explained, "It's Dad and _Mom_ that want you because your reaction to the _midnicampum holicithias_ is _exactly_ what they were looking for!"

The world went mute for Judy, "…What…?"

"And do you think this place is a _home_?" he groaned, "It's a giant laboratory, for _her_! She's always needed test subjects, especially since the PredaTherp scandal shut down Cliffside, so Dad welcomes everyone into the Hopps Manor, but the only ways out are to either follow _her_ or _him_ … some have lived here long enough they've made families of their own. Dad keeps everything, every _one_ tightly controlled and monitored around the clock…" he sighed and raked his scalp, "The only times the control center mutes the microphones is if a couple wants privacy, and only for four minutes, longer if they're in _his_ good graces," he said, looking significantly at Judy, "Or when _I_ eat… the sound sickens them so they turn it off for a set amount of time, and that's about to end…"

"Oh my gosh, I am in such danger…" Judy blurted out.

"All I wanted was to join you on the other side of Eternity, where our crossed stars can shine on forever; where _they_ can never get us," he rued, face in his paws, "but it'll be like it's always been: 'therapy is for those who need reminding of what they are', and what use is a monster that cannot _kill_ …"

 _No… No! There's still a way out of this, there has to be…_ "Graham," she said again but without personal correction, and earned his attention, "You're _not_ a monster, you never _were_ ," and got a doubtful eye, "Okay, maybe you're a jerk, a _colossal_ jerk, but I know plenty of bunnies who are jerks, heck, _I_ know a thing or two about being jerk," she began to ramble before his gaze flattened, "But my point is, there's still a chance to do some good. I mean, _look_!" and pointed to the knife, " _You_ stopped _yourself_. You relinquished without me having to fight it off of you, right? And… you said you showed some the other bunnies how to escape. So…" continued Judy as she saw his face soften, "logically speaking, there _should_ still be hope for you."

"A fine sentiment," he commended, "However, we're still trapped here, and if we _could_ escape, there's no one we can get to in time…" and petered off.

Judy saw a look brewing in his dark purple eyes which reminded her of when Nick was struck with an _especially_ crazy idea (although nowhere near as electrifying, being a bunny as opposed to a fox), and so leaned in, " _But_ …?"

"There is… _one_ bunny that Dad can't get his fingers around," he pondered, and tapped his chin, "Can I get us there soon enough…? It'll be _tight_ , but maybe… there's a _minuscule_ chance…"

 _Yes!_ Judy inwardly whooped, "Good, a chance is all we need. Who's this bunny?"

"Uncle Ozzy. He oversees my _muscular hyperatrophy_ treatments, always has ever since I was born. He's also brilliant, and the leading authority on the disorder," he explained, and began smoothing out the fur on his head as he stood up, and then held out his paw for Judy, "There's an express elevator that goes right up to his office; he's usually there on Monday evenings."

She stood and, likewise, began correcting her dress and carcanet (with apt reverence), but undid the corsage to toss it off to the side. "Oh, that's great-" and then stopped to stare, "Graham, you're not talking about Felix Oswald Lapis, are you?"

"Of _course_ ," he said, as he attempted to fix his bowtie, "Who _else_ would I be talking about?"

"Right, of course," muttered Judy, _From Clea's side of the family… I guess he's the one bunny in all of Knotash that Magnus couldn't control,_ and cleared her throat as she stood in front of Graham and re-tied his neckwear in the blink of an eye, "Honestly, you're worse than my brothers."

"Oh… thank you," he said quietly, his ears then swiveling, "Time is short, we'll need to move quickly. Follow my lead," and held out his arm.

She dismayed the bedlam that was the dining room, "What about _this_ …?"

"Pay it no heed," he dismissed, and then waggled his elbow.

"Oh… 'kay…" Judy doubted, but looped her arm in his, "Where are we going?"

"The garage, and if anyone asks - not that anyone _will_ \- I'm showing you Pearl. I obsess over her and show her off whenever the opportunity affords, so it won't draw suspicion," he said but did not smirk slyly as Judy hoped he would.

"'Pearl'…" she repeated, recalling what some of the other bunnies in the manor said about "Brother Grav's love affair", and then huffed, "Did you _really_ name your car 'Blood Pearl', after Unlucky Hect's pirate ship?"

He grinned, though not in the stitched way she remembered, "Wait until you see her," and his ears swiveled. He whispered masterfully, "The mics will be on soon. Remember that everything you say from this point will be monitored."

Judy nodded, putting on an airy smile as they approached and knocked on the door. The muffled voices of the guards outside were bewildered before Hilde opened up and peeked in. The door opened wider, as did her eyes when she witnessed the late afternoon sun and overhead lamp illuminate the wreckage: one of the napkins caught fire from the candle that had fallen on it, the toppled over bucket of foul regurgitate, along with the crashed table and its broken dishes, and the iPaw sound system that continued along to blare the climax of its classical selection.

"You know the drill," jeered Graham in an uneven smirk, tossing a thumb over his shoulder as he strode past the aghast guards with an authoritative air.

Judy remained silent in a ladylike demeanor, if one uncharacteristically submissive, as they walked down the hallway. Indeed, it seemed that everyone they passed by (quite a few of which were hurrying custodial units or peeking bunnies keeping behind ajar doors) gave Graham a wide berth, and either avoided catching his gaze or seemed awestruck when they saw her. _I guess I'm never coming back to Knotash…_ Judy lamented behind her nonchalant delight.

The electric "carriage" driver was dismissed almost as soon as he was within earshot, and Graham sat behind the wheel (after assisting Judy in) and took off at a reasonable, inconspicuous speed. Before, the grounds were peaceful, but at that point, they seemed to tremble like the buckling of a structure threatening to give out. Along the way, heeding the warning of observation from earlier, they engaged in idle chatter, mainly Graham pointing out truly interesting aspects of the estate en route to the garage, and Judy sincerely enjoying the educational tour, especially from someone who _really_ knew their stuff. _If only you weren't convinced that you were some blood-crazed murderer, Graham, you would've made a decent friend,_ she couldn't help but wonder, _Even if there's still a lot of… jerk-ness to work through_ , she noticed, restraining her distaste at his inability to realize that barbed criticisms were neither funny nor witty. _I rather like that name… 'Graham', better than 'Grav', anyway… just what_ is ' _Grav'?_

They pulled into the garage and down two levels, passing by mainly empty "Visitor" spots, and quite a few vehicles put up on display, as though they themselves were only for viewing. Graham pulled up to his personal and private workshop, the door of which automatically opened after a concise chime from the breast pocket of his jacket. Judy didn't wait for Graham to assist her out, although he didn't seem intent to, rather standing near his car to grin wide.

"Judy, Pearl," he introduced succinctly, "Pearl, Judy," and welcomed the silver rabbit in, dropping the pretense and hopping over to the passenger door to open it, "Tick tock, tick tock, my loves, no time to say hello/goodbye."

"We're _late_?" gasped Judy, and grabbed the front of her dress to, likewise, hop over and into the awaiting seat of a sturdy, comfortable snakeskin interior.

"We're late," confirmed Graham, closing the door and vaulting in behind the wheel. He pulled Judy's phone from his coat pocket and held it out to her, "Here."

"Oh!" she started, " _You_ had it all this time?"

"As a token. Only turn on it _after_ you leave Knotash, that is _crucial_ ," he instructed, pulling out another phone from his other coat pocket, "The WiFi here is _stellar_ and it will be tracked. Also, I suggest getting a new battery for it. Here, say something," Graham also instructed, holding out his own phone in a sleek, burnt sepia case after several taps and swipes of the screen to make it chirp.

"What, _anything_?" she asked in doubt.

"'What, _anything_?'" repeated the phone, and as Graham quirked a bemused brow and pout, it continued, " _Voiceprint set for full rights and access._ "

"Knotash security and identification are largely based on _voice recognition_ ," he explained to quell his put off passenger, his own face no less bemused, "Remember that passcode and its _inflection_ , Judy, because I'm not changing it. Hold this," and grinned before handing it over. She glowered and accepted it, looking at the screen to find a countdown. "Feel free to speak at your whim, because once _that_ hits zero, it's a straight shot off this estate, and then three minutes, forty-two seconds to Hexward." Pearl revved to life as he pressed the ignition button, headlights bright and garage dimming, the dashboard display brilliant with its information about Knotash's time of day, idealistic weather, and what traffic would be like on the way to Hexward (along with some suggestions for dessert and options to order for a drive-by pick-up).

"Is it that close?" asked Judy, watching as the seconds fell away from the mobile screen.

"No, but we'll be going that fast," he chuckled maniacally as the hardtop roof of the car closed overhead, "Also, check the glove box."

 _In any other circumstance…_ she fumed, but noticed that she didn't have a lot of time left, and so popped the hatch of the container before her to find a small black book… except thicker than what was left behind on her nightstand that morning. "Is this…?"

"The unabridged version," boasted Graham, "The one I dare never let anyone else see. Read it, let me know what you think after all this is done. And, oh yes, don't forget your seatbelt."

The three items were held first in her lap, Judy juggling their emotional weight as she buckled herself in, and then kept it all close to her bejeweled chest. _Okay, he can't drive any worse than Nick…_ assumed Judy as Graham's phone chimed the countdown's conclusion after Pearl growled in anticipation.

They were off in a blood-orange blur, speeding through the garage and around curves at a breakneck speed, the doors opening in precise time to their arrival, and closing just as immediately. Down the driveway, they went towards the main gate as perimeter guards stood out of the way of anywhere near the path of Graham and Pearl. The gates were opened, though the guard at the front tried to close them at the last second it was too late, they were out on the artificially sunset-christened streets of Knotash.

Like streams of stars flashing by, Judy hardly had the time or desire to admire the ephemeral architecture, only remembering what she saw in books about the immense overhead tree, the masonry, the integrated electrical system, and lights… Indeed, she could only focus on what was immediately in front of her as the driver wove through cars with mind-numbing fluidity and speed. His phone chimed again and upon the windshield glowed a soft, peripheral display, " _Hello, Grav"_ it said, and made a signal to the right at an opening tunnel off from the street.

"Private highway," reported Graham, and glanced up at the display as they slid down onto the best-maintained road Judy had ever seen, "I _will_ need to get that name changed, though…" Her eyes went wider as she saw flashing lights in the rearview mirror and an announcement over the car's radio, gasping and about to crane her neck before being barked at, "Don't be seen!" he said, turning off the radio, "They're not here for _you_ , and likely don't know you're with me, yet."

"So, they _weren't_ sent by Magnus… Do they think you're just a speedster?" she reasoned, sitting a little lower in the seat.

"No, not that either. It's because I violated my house arrest, and the alert went out one minute, fifty-three seconds ago," he laughed, "Though I suppose my speeding _also_ factors into their persistence."

"And when did you plan on telling me this!"

"When I dropped you off at Hexward."

The answer struck Judy between the eyes, "You… you were never going to leave the car, were you?"

"Judy," Graham beamed, glancing up at the Burrow Watch motorcycles gathering far behind him, "I finally joined the rest of the rabbit community today by accepting the inevitable fate of one who is cursed. At least _this_ way, I can see the look on my father's face when he realizes that I've stolen you from his clutches."

"Graham…"

"You're wrong, Litt-…" and chuckled again, "No, I suppose the 'Little Moth' is _I_ , who flit so close to the flame that is _you_ , and so burst into a glorious, cleansing flare… I _am_ a monster, Candleglow, but perhaps I can be a little more than that by doing the right thing… if for the wrong reason." He took his eyes off the road for an instant to look at his distraught passenger, smiled, and then revved the engine to lose his distant pursuers and whip around a wide arch, into an out-of-sight drop-off station with a bright sign overhead. "Quickly!" he urged, but she was already unbuckled and hopping from the car, and as instantly as he arrived, Graham was gone, down the underground highway with only the echo of a perfectly tuned engine to tell that he was there.

 _Ahh, biscuits!_ fumed Judy, _I meant to ask him about that cut clover sigil in the artifact room…_

Not daring to look back, Judy ducked behind a rounded column of some industrially ornate design, and waited as the better funded, better equipped, and likely enough, more efficient Knotash Burrow Watch sped by in hot pursuit, and didn't come out until the last flash of light and echo of siren was long gone. Judy gazed up at the simple, clear Hexward logo, under which read "The Correct and Proper Use of Pharmaceuticals". _Nick was right,_ she admitted, thinking on an observation he made of the company's insignia bearing a stag's pair of virile antlers, _It really does resemble a fox's head_.

 _Felix Oswald Lapis…_ she mulled, staring along a completely abandoned entryway, _I guess most of Knotash is still in Preds' Corner right now… except those at the Hopps Manor, obviously,_ she reasoned and began her approach of a collection of sturdy glass doors opening automatically as Graham's phone chimed. Onward she pressed, feeling less and less comfortable with each step she took. Were it not for the immaculate cleanliness and breathtaking decor of the carpets, walls, and ceiling, looking very much like a cozy hallway for welcoming the well-to-do (most rabbit establishments tend towards tighter spaces than other species'), Judy would be certain that she was the only breathing mammal still existing. _It must be between cleaning shifts…_ she reasoned to quell her worry, and upon hearing the chime of an elevator, brightly lit and welcoming, made haste.

" _Hello Grav,"_ said the automated voice, " _Felix Oswald Lapis has been informed of your visit."_ The doors slid closed as smooth as silk, and up the lift did rise without a jostle or jolt that it hardly felt as if it were moving at all. Judy's ears listened to the actually calming ambient music, but before she could identify the song, the doors slid open again. " _Have a blessed evening."_

While the splendor of the walk to the Felix's office was less grand than the mayor's in City Hall, since rabbit architecture did not favor large, open areas, it overwhelmed with a paradoxical humility, using earthen colors so reminiscent of a family den with a fire crackling in the hearth, and yet accented in vibrant greens of the flourishing plant life in simple yet decorative pots. As was common for most bunny establishments, no portrait boasted a single rabbit unless used to identify, not even the Felix himself was depicted alone, if ever joined by likenesses of his predecessors, founding members of Hexward - or in a very special case - his former business partner Buckley Stagmire (even if he _towered_ over the rabbit, who with his antlers, looked very much like a furry tree in the dead of winter, despite his warm eyes and smile).

 _Okay,_ steeled Judy, standing upright in her ball gown and opals, hiked the dress with one paw while holding the entrusted items in the other, and strode forward, _I'm not out of the woods, yet. I've only met the Felix once, and that was for less than a minute when he congratulated me last year on being the first bunny officer… and he did call to congratulate me for my work on the pred-scare,_ she remembered. _Maybe he's in on all this, maybe he's a tool, maybe he's completely oblivious to what's happening, but no matter how this turns out, I_ will _return to Bunnyburrow tonight. He should have a helicopter that comes out of the giant tree, I'm pretty sure I saw that… some time ago, and it should be right over his office, so maybe I can hijack that for an escape in case things go awry… provided someone's willing to give me a lift._ Approaching the wide double doors made from an intricately carved tique, Judy stopped when she spotted a portrait of the Felix from before she was born…

There he stood amongst whom Judy reasonably guessed were his numerous siblings, because there was Clea, snowy white and black-splotched, and the only other rabbit of those gathered that she could name off the top of her head: Mary Ann Lapis. _She's beautiful…_ admired Judy, lamenting the terra cotta rabbit who, even in the portrait, was showing signs of what drove the Felix to initially study medicine, and though he became the leading authority on _muscular hyperatrophy_ in rabbits, and discovered numerous other "miracles of medical science" that propelled him to his current success and status, could not save the one bunny he wanted to the most. It was a history that almost all bunnies knew but rarely spoke of. Judy's nose wiggled, _If I remember correctly, she died in childbirth, and so did her child…_ and then looked over to Clea, _She would have to be a carrier since Graham has the disorder…_ and she looked to Oswald once more, _Are you trying to cure him, because you couldn't save Mary Ann…?_ Judy stared at the double doors looming over her… breathed… and touched the handle only to flinch as it opened automatically.

Inside was an elaborate office, again, nothing so grand as the mayor's if only because its design was, as its entryway, intentionally humble, and looked more like the study of a grandfatherly individual, complete with facing walls of bookshelves, sitting areas with extraordinarily comfortable-looking chairs, and subdued colors that welcomed the viewer into a familial embrace; encouraged was the kicking-up of one's feet and the laying-down of one's head. The far wall was a subtly curved window, and by the view, it was obvious to anyone who saw that they were inside the tree itself, the winding, complex root structure spreading out over Knotash below, with Deciduousville beyond (or as the locals liked to refer to it as, "The Hundred Acre Wood", even if its total land area was definitely _not_ one hundred acres). The south-facing window was edged by low-hanging sunlight allocated from a dispersal of solar-panel leaves high above, and at the very bottom was a wide, sturdy desk, which the Felix himself was bent over.

Long, ebony ears arched and erected to the presence of a visitor, along with the glimpse of soft eyes that then burst with attention. He set down a stylus and got up from his high-backed chair to lift away a pair of glasses and blurt out, "Judy Hopps?"

Judy stood awkwardly, wondering if she should cross her fingers and bow her head (considering the proper etiquette), curtsey (considering her dress), stand at attention (considering her profession), or wave (for lack of any direction on how to respond to such a casual greeting). "Uh, _hi_ ," she chuckled and dropped her dress a moment to wave at chest-height, before picking it up again in hurry to the desk, "Sorry to barge in like this, but I have some _very_ important matters to discuss with you," she reported, before adding a deferential, "sir." Every step through the office reminded her that one of the influencers of Zootopia stood at spitting distance.

"I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting you, a dress, or you _in_ a dress," admitted Oswald, paws idly gesturing as she set both phones on the book on the desk, which was itself an enormous touch screen displaying numerous programs and files that he was working on, and by simply removing his own phone from the desk, was all minimized, "but, please, let yourself in and make yourself comfortable. Where's Grav?" he inquired, recognizing the burnt sepia phone case.

"He's…" paused Judy, _Alright, I've got one shot here,_ "He dropped me off."

"'Dropped you off'?" doubted the Felix, and took a seat.

"Yes, sir," she affirmed, still standing, paws moving from being folded at her waist, to being held at her sides, _He won't suspect either Magnus or Clea, considering they're both his family, so I need to handle this with the utmost caution,_ "He had me over for dinner tonight, and I informed him of some… suspicious activity in Bunnyburrow, specifically to do with the Reunion."

The white-furred fingers of Oswald's otherwise black-furred arm drummed in contemplation as he leaned over to one side of the chair, "Do you mean the Lookers in Preds' Corner?"

 _Oh, yes! Nick, I could kiss you!_ jubilated Judy, as calmly as she could, using the jolt of her spine to bounce into a surprised expression, _I can use this to bolster the claim that I need to get to Bunnyburrow pronto,_ "You've already heard about that?"

"My manager over there said they've become a real nuisance, on top of a few _other_ things…" he insinuated, and then rubbed his chin as he looked her up and down.

 _Uh oh…_ she fretted.

"However, that doesn't explain why _you're_ here, right now, in a dress that likely doesn't cost as much as those opals around your neck, which in turn, surely costs more than _triple_ what you make in a _year_. So, Judy," he said and leaned an elbow on his desk to drag a single app across the touch screen and adjusted it so she could see that it said "Alarm" with a bright red button under his hovering finger, "I'll level with you: you waltz into my office with my nephew's phone but _without_ my nephew, bypass _mind-boggling_ layers of security - kudos, by the way, I'll need to have those backdoors checked tonight - and I can't help but feel that you're not being completely honest with me right now, which… I'll admit, it's disappointing."

Judy could not be chilled further if an iceberg slid down her back, "Uhh… I…"

" _I_ ," interrupted the Felix, "heard this morning that my nephew is not allowed off the estate for the next month _at least_ , much less capable of 'dropping you off' at my doorstep. That said," he continued, and withdrew his finger from the bright, red, digital button, "I want to hear from _you -_ about whom praises are sung to make a saint green with envy - the _whole_ truth." He then sat back and gestured to one of the desk's cushioned chairs.

Fumbling a bit, Judy looked behind her and repositioned herself into the offered seat, careful of the dress, and sat down, "I'm sorry, Felix Lapis, but it's been something of a _weird_ weekend…"

"I'll _bet_ ," he agreed and was perhaps a little put off that he couldn't be casual about the conversation, "Whatever got _you_ in a _dress_ and in my office must be headline news. _Still_ ," Oswald asserted, "I'm pretty sure that whatever your reason is for being here is no light matter. So, you: the truth, and leave _nothing_ out, Judy Hopps. All things considered, you've already proven yourself a brave and trustworthy rabbit in the past year-and-a-half; don't think I haven't kept an ear on you ever since you applied for the police academy. Alright, go ahead," he instructed, and as a final show of good faith minimized the "Alert" button.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

"Please, 'Oswald'."

And so, Judy explained everything she could, as succinctly as she could, and as straight-faced as she could. She explained the Night Howler drug in the whipped cream, how she, Nick, Gideon, Bo, and Esther worked to prevent the tragedy at the pie-eating contest (and her personal hopes that it was, indeed, prevented) and build a case against Magnus Hopps. Oswald listened to all of it, and even opened up a notepad app on his desk to jot stuff down, but was completely deadpan for the most part, save for the occasional, skeptical quirk of the eyebrow. She finished with a low huff, "And that's when Graham told me that… he wanted to do something _right_ , so he gave me his phone to get up here, to _you_."

The Felix idly cracked his knuckles, "That's a lot to take in."

Already exhausted, already reading his expressions through the exposition, Judy deflated, "You're not convinced."

"I'm just saying-"

"Do you think I'm _lying_?" pressed Judy.

"What? _No_ ," started Oswald.

"Or maybe I've gone _mad_?"

"Not _that_ kind of 'mad', but-"

"Well, if I'm not _mad_ and I'm not _lying_ , then logically we must assume I'm telling the _truth_."

Oswald blinked, and leaned back to rub his eyes, "Judy… Magnus is my brother-in-law, I've entrusted him with the welfare of not only myself and my own family, but my _company_ and every family therein, on more than one occasion. This thing with the _midnicampum holichithias_ pollen as a narcotic… it's already a _huge_ issue in the city, and maligning him with it requires _proof_."

Judy slumped forward to bury her beautifully made-up face in her palms.

"Do you _have_ proof?" he sincerely asked.

 _If my Mom's casserole tonight means what I think it means, then they swapped out what was in the Sheriff's evidence locker with regular whipped cream…_ "No," she said dully, "at least not on me."

"And where _would_ it be?"

 _At least I can get home tonight,_ she sighed, looking down at the floor where the sun shone its no doubt low-in-the-sky light, "It's back in Bunnyburrow."

He nodded, "When you have all that, let me know. Magnus and I go way back, and I might just call him tonight, see what he has to say on the matter. Tell you what, I can have my driver take you to the train station… Or I suppose you'd want to pick up some street clothes, first?"

"No no, I wouldn't want to be any more trouble than I already am; I'll call a Züber," sighed Judy, pulled out her phone, and remembered not only Graham's warning but that the battery wasn't supplying power to it _anyway_ , "Actually, my phone's dead, so I'll accept the ride. Thank you."

Oswald grimaced guiltily, "Sure thing. Before you go, could I have… You know, I can't remember the last time anyone called him 'Graham'," he said, and got up from his chair to walk around the desk, "Hey, how about this: I actually need to head into Bunnyburrow myself to talk with Mr. McTwisp about this whole… _Lookers_ thing, he's my manager over there, deals with a lot of the intermammalian affairs, specifically when it has to do with upholding the Hexward Tenets. I wasn't planning on it until tomorrow morning, but maybe I can give you a lift?"

"That would be _amazing_ , thank you," accepted Judy as she stood, and then asked, "Would that be _tonight_ , or…?"

"Oh no, first thing tomorrow. The helicopter's ready to go at a moment's notice, but I wouldn't head out tonight unless it was _dire_ ," he explained, and at her crestfallen expression, continued, "I can get you somewhere to spend the night, though, that's not an issue."

 _Dang… I guess I'll have to trust that the Felix has a secure line that I can contact Nick with,_ she hoped as she picked up her effects, "I'd appreciate that. Oh, what were you going to ask for?"

"Right," remembered Oswald, and pointed to the sepia-cased device, "Go ahead and leave Grav's phone here, I'm sure Magnus will want it back."

The phone hovered over the desk as Judy quirked a brow and asked, "Why _Magnus_?"

"Those phones are our identifiers here in Knotash, bleeding edge technology. We've invested into it a great deal more than the rest of the city, had it honed and developed over the years," he mildly boasted, "Every building was fitted with the sensors, too; Grav was actually at the forefront of the project, knows all the ins-and-outs… under the direction of Magnus, of course."

 _Is that so…_ thought Judy, and noticed a searching icon pop up on the phone as it neared the desk, and recalled how the Felix's own phone was connected earlier by proximity alone, _Bleeding edge tech, 'eh?_ She set the phone carefully onto the touchscreen, rather than the wooden frame, and watched as data streamed onto the desktop computer in a sunburst of the user interface.

Oswald lept, face contorted in confusion and apprehension as he hurried back around to his chair, paw swiping and tapping at the screen, "What is… what is all this?" he demanded, looking to the large, locked icon that appeared, and then to Judy with a gesture of vehement inquisition, "Perhaps you'd like to explain?"

Judy was bent over the desk, watching the gentle glow before looking up at the Felix, " _I_ was just about to say that. Was this on his phone?"

"This isn't 'on his phone'," he corrected sternly, and continued contentiously, though to himself rather than Judy, " _This_ is obviously that partition my IT guys told me about, which for _some_ reason Grav's phone accesses." He attempted to push the icon but it only bounced in place and was otherwise unresponsive, so he then put his full palm to it but it made no attempts to read its signature, to which he grunted and enunciated, "Unlock: Felix Oswald Lapis," but again, it remained still. The Felix stood upright and rubbed an ear firmly in what sounded like admonishing retrospection, "An entire _petabyte_ of data, just sitting there on Hexward's servers; IT said it was used for 'maintenance' and 'archives'," he mumbled to himself, "but why does Grav's phone access it?"

"Do you have a way to hack it?" she asked aloud, _Maybe this is jam-packed with all the information for what happened this weekend…?_

" _Yes_ ," he almost snapped but forced himself to calm, "Sorry. It'd be a hexadecimal passcode based off voice, so without Grav's vocal print to unlock it, the world could spiral into the sun before we _ever_ got close to cracking through. Since Grav violated his house arrest, the Watch can hold him until they turn him over to the ZPD, and then we're up a creek without a paddle."

"So… we just need someone else who has access to his phone?" pondered Judy.

Oswald grimaced, "I don't know who _else_ that could be. Something this size, kept entirely off the radar… it would've taken _years_ to set up… or been there the whole time," he fretted and rubbed a temple, "The new servers were put in well over a decade ago, and upgraded on several occasions," he continued. "He went to college immediately after high school, and put his degree to work almost as soon as he graduated, and sure, he kept up his treatments the whole way, but when would he have the time to _do_ this…?"

"Felix…" Judy realized.

"Judy, please, 'Oswald' is fine-"

"No, ' _Felix'_!" she emphasized with a gesture, "Upon becoming Felix you also chose an apprentice-"

"I know how it works," he said flatly, "and my apprentice is busy right now-"

" _Well_ ," Judy continued, "it's something a _lot_ of property-owning mammals and _rabbits_ do, not just the Felix. My Dad chose one of my older brothers to shoulder the responsibility of house patriarch after him, to shadow him and train under him to one day continue in his place. Now, I heard from some of his siblings that Graham is following in Magnus's pawprints, like an _apprentice_ ," she implied.

"So… you deduce that because Grav has access to this partition, it, therefore, belongs to _Magnus_ …?"

She smiled warily at the dawning realization in his voice, "You… _are_ convinced?"

Oswald set his brow into place, as though to hide a guilty expression, "Not saying that I _am_ ; I'd like the common decency of _concrete proof_ before accusing someone I trust of foul deeds, but it _does_ make more sense… Magnus would have more _capability_ , more _resources_ to maintain something this big and this secret," he frowned awkwardly, "I mean… whatever doubts _I've_ harbored about his methods aside, it _doesn't_ answer the question of _when_ he would have been able… to…" and trailed off. His face and ears drained of color, composure straining like a suspension bridge in a hurricane as he reached behind him with a flailing arm to assure where, exactly, his chair was so that he might collapse into it. "Heavens above…" he wheezed, "Grav's been seeing me for his treatments for over two decades, and Magnus was always right there, well into adulthood… he insisted on it… even though he wasn't always in the room, he was always sure to come…"

Judy hurried around to brace Oswald as he stared across the desk, limp in his chair, and then she lifted his head until she saw his eyes focusing again.

"All those _years_ , bringing Grav into Hexward," moaned Oswald, perhaps only then aware of the knife jutting through his heart from being stabbed in the back. He grabbed both ears to yank them under his chin in a frightful groan, only to release them so they flung back up as he rocketed to sit straight in his chair, only to lunge forward and collide his forehead dully with the wood frame around the touchscreen desk, repeating the action with a few bobs of his head. " _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid…_ " he protested, ears slapping the desk each time, "Magnus always _hated_ rabbits with the disorder… _always_ hated Mary Ann, but I thought he turned over a new leaf with Clea and Grav…" Oswald rambled on to himself, head gently rolling side-to-side along the desk, "I wanted to believe so _badly_ that I could save my nephew from all that, and Magnus _knew_ that was my blindspot… All so he could get… _something_ …"

 _I think he forgot I was here_ , Judy noticed, lips pursing as she busied herself with the lock icon, _Maybe… Graham got me up here because he must have known the desk could do this, and if that's the case, then I wonder if…_ "What, anything?" she said aloud, watching the screen expectantly.

"I don't _know_ …" heaved Oswald, and sat up again to rub his sore forehead, "He must've gotten his hooks into the IT bunnies themselves, but I can't think of anything _I_ would have that _he_ would go through so much trouble for… he's practically set for life as it is. He's a _food processor_ ; we developed a _cure_ for the Night Howler, that's it. And it's not like anybunny _wants_ to be the Felix, it's not an elected position, it's a _huge_ responsibility…"

"Hmm…" Judy continued in thought, _Oh, right, inflection,_ "What, _anything_?"

"I _just_ said-"

" _Hello Grav,"_ chimed the electronic voice from the phone as the icon went from gray to green and the lock opened. Thousands upon thousands of folders streamed onto the screen, all lining up and awaiting the perusal of either bunny (if they could do more than watch in stunned amazement, although Oswald gawked at Judy for a moment before returning attention to the touchscreen).

When it all stopped, Oswald whipped out his phone and set it on the desktop, which the folder recognized and connected to it in a matter of seconds, "C'mon, c'mon…" he urged. When it finished, he swiped down as though to pull a shade, and in the wake of his fingers came a keyboard. His typing was swift and grunts of focus few, before he tapped the _Enter_ key for a final time and declared, "Unlock: Felix Oswald Lapis."

" _Hello Felix Lapis,"_ the voice chimed, " _Voiceprint set for full rights and access._ "

He laughed triumphantly, and by taking both phones off the desk the sealed partition disappeared after a few seconds so that all had returned to how it was. Oswald stowed his own mobile device into an inner pocket, and then studied his nephew's, "There, now _I_ have administrator rights to whatever's on this partition. It'll take time, but…" he boasted, paused, and then stood up soberly… apologetically, "Judy… I owe you a _great_ deal."

 _I guess he's convinced,_ she thought, and stood upright with both paws folded behind her back, chest out with a smile, "Well, that's what we do at the ZPD…"

The black-furred head shook, "It's more than that. Grav's always had trust issues, sometimes I wondered if he was ever really close with _anyone_ beyond me or his parents. Yet, he was willing to give you not only his _phone_ but full access to it, and for _you_ , he was willing to violate his house arrest, all of which is no small potatoes here in Knotash." To the bashfully blinking, purple eyes, Oswald continued, "The way I see it, that puts a lot of force behind you."

She could not help but beam, if modestly, "So, you _do_ believe me, then?"

The Felix's mouth pinched on one side in a grin, "You came back after the pred-scare, Judy, you did the right thing even though it meant taking your lumps, and lumps were _definitely_ taken. That shows integrity, and now I'm seeing the facts line up behind you. As for Magnus, he can talk his way out of a lot of sticky situations, facts or not, and usually at the expense of others." Oswald shrugged, "I've turned a deaf ear to some of the things I've heard about him, assumed them exaggeration or nasty rumors because there was nothing concrete to back them, and also for Clea and Grav's sake… which, thinking on it, is probably what he _anticipated_ I'd do," he groaned and rubbed the back of his head.

Judy reached out and touched his arm, "We're only mammals, Oswald, we make mistakes. What's important is what we do to _correct_ them."

He laughed heartily, "Young lady, I could tell you stories about mistakes that would curl your ears, but _this_ one won't be among those. You said that you had a case built up against him already, right? I'll need to speak with your friend Esther; if she's as sharp as when she defended Lionheart, I'll want her insight on this."

"She's top shelf, but doesn't Hexward _already_ have one of the best legal teams in the city?" asked Judy.

"We _do_ ," sighed Oswald, "However, I'm duly nervous about trusting _anybunny_ that Magnus had access to. As it is, your friends are everything he can't stand, and that's enough to stay his influence… which I mean to be nicer than it sounds, of course…

"We'll head out to Bunnyburrow immediately, set up an emergency meeting with McTwisp to dissuade any suspicion. When Magnus finds out that both you and Grav's phone are gone, and that he drove by Hexward, it won't take long to put two-and-two together. Once I get in touch with your friend Esther, I'll bring her to my temporary office in Bunnyburrow proper; I have a similar desk set up there, we won't get the same connection speed, but we'll manage. Of course…" Oswald continued, looking again at Judy's dress after he walked around the desk, "If _you'd_ like to change into something more comfortable, I'm sure we can spare-"

"Nope!" assured Judy, and picked up the front of her dress, "This'll have to do. Graham said we were already late, so we should assume we're on borrowed time."

Oswald flinched, but was quick to recover, "Then it's a good thing Carlos is a sucker for a pretty face," he chuckled, ushering her out of the office and down the entry hall towards the private elevator, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen, "Carlos."

" _¿Sí?_ " came a suave voice from over the phone.

"How soon can you be airborne?" asked Oswald.

"As soon as possible, Felix Lapis, but to secure a flight plan this late in the day-" he began.

"Judy, say 'Hi'," and tilted his phone to face her.

"Hi!" beamed Judy, and leaned over to wave at the dark, mocha-furred snout on the other end.

"Four minutes," reported Carlos, "three if you hurry."

" _Capital_ ," Oswald commended as they entered the elevator with the appropriate, electronic greetings, "We're headed to The Brambles," he elaborated, and after an affirmation, stowed his phone once more.

"A few things," Judy pointed out, and when Oswald grunted his curiosity she held up a pair of speculative indexes, "I get why we're flying into Preds' Corner, that's where all the Knotash bunnies are and the only other official helipad in Bunnyburrow, but I couldn't help but notice that Carlos is a _fox_ …?" she asked with wryly smirking interest.

"And the best helicopter pilot money can buy," boasted the Felix, "Luckily for me, he's one of the _smaller_ fox species, and thus fits comfortably enough inside of a rabbit-sized whirlybird," he mused, "and isn't it ironic that foxes are the only mammals I feel I can trust right now…"

" _Magnus_ detests _foxes_?" she declared in mock surprise.

" _Never_ would've guessed, right? He says they're 'unpredictable'," and shrugged in good humor. As they entered into the hangar with the far wall opening up to the preliminary golden glow of a sunset, the helicopter with its folded back blades were spinning to life. "Ladies first," he offered, holding the sliding door open for her, even though it opened (and likely, would close) of its own volition. They both hopped in as the aerial vehicle sealed shut and the overhead blades began to spin. The interior was remarkably comfortable with a pressure-controlled environment, a mini-fridge, and luxuriously plush seats (even if they did have harness-straps, they looked… "optional", in the sense that they were used primarily for turbulence).

Carlos greeted with a debonair smile (especially to Judy) as they entered, and reported their flight time to be estimated at two hours. An expedition over the splendor of Zootopia right before sunset. From the tangleroot canopy of Knotash, to the evergreen spires of Conifer District. From the "concrete jungle" of Downtown and the sprawling Savanna Central. Down, past Zootopia Sound and the Bunnyburrow Bridge, where the train connects farm and city. A two-hour flight to wonder at it all...

Judy was restless. Things were finally falling into place, and she had so much to report back to Nick, and Gideon, and Esther… and Bo. She was tense.

Oswald was tense. He had a masterful manner, though, a diamond-forged rampart of composure regained… he represented all rabbits in Zootopia, after all, he would need to be to go head-to-head and toe-to-toe with the larger mammals, prey and predator alike. The Felix, who amongst the leading species of the city had a backing which invoked a pause in even the most powerful, owned the whole of the Tri-Burrows. It was the bunnies' attempt to secure standing in the city nearly a century ago, when the Burrows were still new. The "ownership" was not something sought for, however, as it was a herculean responsibility thrust upon the bunny deemed best capable of dealing with the rest of the city, the rest of the world, on behalf of every bunny that ever lived. The Felix held no say in what happens there, however, except boasting the knowledge that they would have every long-ear turned to them when they spoke.

The two bunnies chatted, a distraction that he was thankful for and she all the willing to provide. She learned that "Grav" was an endearment from when Graham had a speech impediment as a tyke and could not pronounce his own name. He learned that the opals she wore were, in fact, the original gems of "Tears for a Sunset". She offered to give them back, if anyone, to him. He insisted that, since he had nowhere to put them, the safest place would be to keep them around her neck until they landed. They agreed.

When Oswald was stolen away by important phone calls, Judy graciously permitted it and so sat to collect her thoughts…

 _The 'death-shriek'… I suppose if something terrible_ did _happen at the TBR, I or Oswald would've heard about it by now… so maybe Nick prevented it,_ she hoped, and felt a bit lighter because of it, _Still, why make a drug that causes it in the first place? I can't think it'd work too well as a weapon, or even for purely scientific reasonings. And what could've sparked such an interest, anyway? Campfire stories about it are older than dirt, and it's not like there's anything concrete about a death-shriek…_ She paused, head lifting up from her palm and eyebrows arching as she glanced down at the "unabridged" journal of Hector Howard.

 _Graham… is it possible that… could it be that Graham death-shrieked as an toddler? Pouncing a bird that he loved as a friend would be traumatizing, especially at that age… What little I know about the death-shriek is that it was supposedly meant as a signal to warn other bunnies about a nearby predator, and even amongst those stories, its effects on a predator were sketchy at best… I figure Magnus would also know about it, and maybe he tried to recreate it? Oh my gosh…_ she then went pale, forcing herself to stare out the window to hide any despair, _How long has this been going on? Has it all ended in failure, and now he needed to find bunnies that weren't from Knotash? And what about Clea? She could've been in on this, too…_

 _Pred-therapy…_ Judy about freaked, ' _Test subjects'… were they faced with screaming rabbits, just to see what effect, if any, it had on predators? It might explain why they ended up so broken…_ She bore down and steeled herself all the more, and decided instead of thinking about such awful things, to read the book which Graham had given her, _I need to get my mind on something a little cheerier_ , Judy thought facetiously. So, she read the first page… and then the second… and only half of the third before closing its black bindings while the tears were just forming in the corners of her eyes, and before either her host or the pilot yet recognized her horror stricken state. Perhaps worst of all was how naïve and pompous she must have sounded to Graham when dismissing Bag-o'-Bones as no more than a ghost story…

"Hey, Judy," said Oswald, his paw grasping her arm such that she about jumped out of her fur, " _Relax_. If anything happened, I would've heard about it. Goodness knows, I'm bound to hear about _something_ , even if all's well," he grinned.

She breathed, "Sorry… guess I'm still a bit… _on edge_."

"Well…" the Felix considered, glancing about for a way to get her mind off of things, and then smiling, he then leaned in with a whisper, "I'm sure if you ask _real_ nicely, Carlos will let you steer the helicopter for a little bit."

"But!" Judy flinched, "I don't even have a student pilot certificate-"

Oswald touched a finger to his lips to shush succinctly, "I won't tell anyone," and winked.

After an insistent ushering, Judy gleefully acquiesced and made her way over to the cockpit, wherein Carlos sat with his bushy tail tucked into sling beneath the open back of the seat he sat in; clearly a custom job designed for the comfort of his species. He glanced up behind his sunglasses and grinned, holding out a spare headset in response to a conversation he no doubt overheard to beckon, "Come fly with me." And for twelve eternal seconds of the thirty-four minutes in which Judy sat in the co-pilot seat, she barely managed to fly guided over the sparkling gem of Zootopia.

* * *

The sun was almost set.

The helipad was readied and a driver awaited the Felix's arrival.

There, off in the nearby field was a grand, reflective sign and an obvious red carpet to attract the attention of the FELIX, and were it not for Judy recognizing the yellow-striped tent, it would have surely gone ignored.

Judy was ecstatic to meet her friends again, almost able to see them through the tinted windows as they landed. She fought back the urge to hike up her dress and run the distance to them, instead accepting another lift from her benefactor. In the ride over, Nick's plan to use the Lookers to get the Felix down into Preds' Corner was fully explained… at least to the best of Judy's understanding.

Oswald was, perhaps, less than thrilled to know his community of rabbits were being harried for such an ostentatious manipulation, but was also less than peeved to know that it was such a prank which, in the end, covered their rendezvous so well. He stepped from the vehicle when his driver opened the door, and saw first the three foxes, two of which he recognized as Nick Wilde and Esther Grey, the third he easily assumed was her brother, Gideon. Nothing about this was casual. Each one was dressed for battle, but this wasn't the first time Oswald dealt with foxes, and he knew what to expect (or was sure enough).

He then saw the broad-shouldered rabbit, Bo Briar, and remembered first seeing his application for the "Lapis Scholarship" for orphaned rabbits looking to reach for higher things in the world, and remembered how, like Oswald himself, was dead-set on finding a cure for the "bunny curse". With his grades and motivation, Bo could have walked into a research position in Hexward then and there… and it was the cold shock of disappointment which faltered Oswald's professionalism when he remembered that he wanted to be an MMA fighter, instead, and maybe go into research _afterwards_. He turned an ear towards Judy as she stepped out and into the golden sunset…

Judy hurriedly rose into view, bathed in light that glistened off the silver lace of her dress and powder of her make-up, and seemed to burst from each opal and gilded strand of the carcanet upon her chest. The great amethysts of her eyes shone the brighter still as she approached all those shocked faces, seeing Nick, and Gideon, and Esther… and Bo. Bo stood up first, and even with the length of red carpet between them, she could see, she could tell that he was as happy to see her as she was to see him… Judy knew this, because he got that same look in his eye and slack of his jaw when he first saw her; when he had the hardest time stringing together a complete word, much less a complete _sentence_ , in his fumbling attempts to greet her.

The world seemed to hang, swing in a single beat of the pendulum before the air filled with raucous, standing ovation. The three foxes were at their feet and clapping with all their might; Gideon put his fingers to his teeth and whistled high; Nick threw his head back and cupped his mouth in a howl; Esther called out "Brava! Brava!", and had she flowers to throw, she most certainly would have.

"Did you see that!" gawked Gideon, "She jus' stepped out, and _boom_!"

"Oh, that was _beautiful_ , artful!" swooned Esther, "If _only_ I could've _recorded_ it!"

"You two!" declared Nick, holding his applause only to shove Bo down the red carpet until practically throwing him onto Judy, "Start making some little ones who we can embellish this story to!"

"Blue!" said Esther, bounding up behind him and touching his arm while gesturing between the two of them, " _We_ could make someone to tell the story to; it'll be generational!"

Nick gasped in a smile as his eyes illuminated, "You're right, we _could_!"

"But guys!" argued Gideon, flanking Nick, "That'll still take _years_ , our best bet is Jude's siblings, and they already know her!"

"Don't worry," assured Nick, paw slicing the air with determination, "I'll get my Dad in my on this, he's a grand master storyteller: there are _two_ eye-witness accounts for the events of the day of my birth, and to date I _still_ don't know which one is correct. So…" and went on.

As the foxes exchanged in the background, Bo stood mere inches from Judy, having stopped himself short from colliding with her statuesque stance. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the most powerful rabbit in the city was only a few steps away. "Hi, Juju," he said as calmly as he could, finally managing to construct enough of a sentence to say, "You look… that's an _amazing_ dress… Umm... I… I didn't know this was a _formal_ occasion, or else I would've-"

Judy grabbed the collar of his shirt to bend him far enough over to kiss him. For this, his eyes were wide and ears high, but as they flopped back and eyelids fluttered, his powerful arms wrapped around the waist to hoist her from the ground as though she were weightless, and spun about with a billowing of the lily-white dress. Bo was, as she always believed, the single point in a maelstrom which she could hold onto, the lighthouse in a dark sea that no matter the squalls, she could return to. Alighting on the ground once again, Judy realized that not only had she touched down from orbit but her foxes had gone quiet…

The Grey siblings were the first to grab her, a pair of paws each lifting her up and into a pair of noses touching at the base of her ears, while a pair of tongues caressed at her cheeks in elated trills and murrs. What mirth, what gratitude they showed her for coming back, for being the beacon of courage they knew her to be. It was a time of celebration, for a wayward fox, stolen from them by malcontents and deviants, had reappeared in the most glorious way possible, and with her she had such tales to tell and songs to sing that a legend would surely blossom from their recounting. As the silver rabbit writhed in delight she was soon freed from familial clutches…

Nick reached out for her and she was relinquished into his embrace, their cheeks pressed together and sharing a wide smile each. Her trust in him proved bountiful, as she always knew it could. Even if she were to walk blindly down a hallway of dangers, she knew Nick would be there as a guide and they'd both step out into the light without a scratch. Contrary to what she knew of him, however, Nick allowed himself to revel in the very emotions she was so often teased and admonished for. It happened again… Judy let herself be overcome with joy and, for that moment, in the golden aura of a sunset finally come to an end, the world was the best place it could possibly be.

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

I do love a happy ending... transitional, though it may be. Right, then...

"Schubat" is a combination of "Schubert" and "bat".

Grav's/Graham's gun was shown back in Trustworthy(26).

 _"_ _Curse this dress_ _!_ " is from Merida in Pixar's Brave.

"But I'm curious: after you kill me, what is it you plan on doing next?", is from Capt. Hector Barbossa in Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, from which some _other_ parallels should also be evident, such as "Blood Pearl" and "Black Pearl".

Nick figured out the name "Graham" back in Brave(13).

Clea's propensity towards using others as unwilling test subjects was touched on back in Brave(9) and onward, while PredaTherp's affect on Cliffside was discussed back in Brave(15).

"The Correct and Proper Use of Pharmaceuticals" is from back in Trustworthy(19), as is the resemblance its logo has to a fox's head.

Deciduousville's other name, "The Hundred Acre Wood", is from Winnie the Pooh.

"Well, if I'm not mad and I'm not lying, then logically we must assume I'm telling the truth.", is from Prof. Digory Kirke in The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.

"McTwisp" references "Nivin McTwisp" from Alice in Wonderland (2015), and he also appeared back in Brave(7); yes, intentionally.

Carlos is a reference to the Brazilian helicopter pilot in Pixar's Inside Out and his voice actor, Carlos Alazraqui; he is a crab-eating fox, a Brazilian species that is notably small.

Oswald's disappointment steps from something that was mentioned back in Trustworthy(20), as well as earlier in the story, where Bo planned to fight in the MMA before accepting an internship with Hexward.


End file.
